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  • Will Ohio Prisoners Be Allowed to View the Eclipse? It Depends on the Facility

    Will Ohio Prisoners Be Allowed to View the Eclipse? It Depends on the Facility

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    Marion Correctional Institution

    While most of the 31 million people in America living in or near the path of totality for the solar eclipse on Monday, April 8, will have to do little more that afternoon than stroll outside around 3 p.m. for a few minutes to witness the historical celestial moment, incarcerated individuals are among those who will have little autonomy over how and if they’ll get a chance to see the spectacle.

    In New York, where 29 of 62 counties are in the path of totality, prisoners have filed a lawsuit following notice that the state would be instituting a mandatory system-wide lockdown during the event due to safety concerns. “I don’t believe that just because I am incarcerated that I should be denied this opportunity,” one told Hell Gate, which first reported the news.

    In Michigan, where a partial eclipse will be viewable, the state’s Department of Corrections told the Free Press there will be no changes to normal yard times, meaning many will be under an open sky Monday afternoon, even if, as the paper reports, many prisoners aren’t even aware an eclipse is on the horizon. (The state won’t, however, be providing any protective glasses.)

    Here in Ohio, where hundreds of thousands of eclipse tourists are expected to arrive before Monday, the state’s Department of Rehabilition and Correction has issued no statewide policy, a spokesperson told Scene.

    The decisions, then, have been left entirely up to individual facilities, meaning whether an incarcerated individual in the state will watch history depends on where they’re currently serving their sentence.

    Many, but not all, will have open yard time during Monday afternoon to allow inmates to catch history.

    Those include Marion Correctional Institution, Pickaway Correctional Institution, Grafton Correctional Institution, Chillicothe Correctional Institution, and Mansfield Correctional Institution (minimum security camp only).

    Others, however, such as Trumbull and Lorain, will have a closed yard during the eclipse though not restrict inmates to their cells that afternoon. Yards at Mansfield, Dayton and the Ohio Reformatory for Women will all be closed as well.

    Glasses will be provided where yards are open, an ORC spokesperson said.

    Looking at the sun during an eclipse without protective eyewear can cause serious damage to the retina.

    The next total solar eclipse viewable in Ohio won’t occur until 2099.

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    Vince Grzegorek

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  • Ohio Small Business Owners Fear a TikTok Ban Would Take a Hit to Their Sales

    Ohio Small Business Owners Fear a TikTok Ban Would Take a Hit to Their Sales

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    “Discoverability is high on a platform like that”

    Ohio small business owners worry banning TikTok could be bad for business.

    The U.S. House of Representatives passed a bill earlier this month that would lead to a nationwide ban of TikTok — if its China-based owner ByteDance doesn’t sell its stake. Lawmakers are worried ByteDance would share user data with the Chinese government or push propaganda and misinformation. 

    President Joe Biden said he would sign the House bill (which is currently in the Senate), even though his reelection campaign has an account on the popular video app. 

    But the Ohio Capital Journal talked to a handful of small business owners around Ohio that rely on TikTok to promote their products and build community. 

    “TikTok is the best social media platform for small businesses without a doubt,” said Kimberly Ochsenbein, who owns Akron Lights Candle Co

    More than 70% of her customers come from TikTok and she is concerned her business might not survive if TikTok is banned. 

    “The viral potential and the expanded reach that you get from TikTok, you can’t get that from any other social media platform,” Ochsenbein said, who uses the app to interact with viewers and give them a behind the scenes look at her candles.

    TikTok is appealing because of the quick and original nature of the videos, said Alexa Fox, an associate professor of marketing at the University of Akron who teaches a social media marketing class. 

    “It’s intriguing to people because they’re easy to watch,” Fox said. 

    TikTok can be especially appealing to small businesses because there is so much potential to gain traction quickly, Fox said. 

    “Discoverability is high on a platform like that,” she said.

    Akron Lights Candle Co.

    Ochsenbein launched her business in 2021 as a way to make some extra money as a stay at home mom. Her candles resemble various drinks, desserts, and foods. 

    “I tried to figure out a way to make my candles stand out instead of just a traditional jarred candle that you can buy anywhere,” Ochsenbein said. 

    She joined TikTok in 2021 as a way to edit her videos for her other social media platforms, but then her videos started going viral with millions of views and she watched her sales spike.  

    “I started posting more and more,” she said. “And that’s the good thing about TikTok is you can make a huge community of your business, you can grow a quick community, and it has viral potential that goes beyond anything that I ever thought possible.”

    Coco’s Confectionary Kitchen

    Adrianna Wise launched her bakery business Coco’s Confectionary Kitchen with her mom and sister in 2020 during the COVID-19 pandemic and started using TikTok that same year to promote their Columbus-based business.

    “You actually get to see that you’re having a global reach, which is even better for your brand recognition and your business,” she said. “It’s the elites, there’s nothing like it.”

    She uses her TikTok account to show her followers baking tips and tricks and how she makes her cakes, and in turn, she uses TikTok to learn the latest trends. 

    “A lot of us use TikTok as a search engine,” she said. “Without TikTok being a platform, not only is your business going to experience a deficit in their overall marketing agency, but I think also in the way that they’re able to be innovative and creative.”

    About half of her content on TikTok goes viral and people will often reach out to with orders her after seeing her on TikTok or people will send her messages asking for specific baking advice. 

    “It’s been beneficial for me too because I’ve helped influence a new generation of bakers,” Wise said.

    Banning TikTok could bring small businesses to a standstill, she said.

    “I know that it’s very difficult to have such a humongous change happen to your (marketing ) strategy,” Wise said. 

    Hello Happily Co.

    Sarah Hall opened her boutique Hello Happily Co. in Greenville 2018 and started using TikTok to promote her business a year later. But it wasn’t until the COVID-19 pandemic that her online sales increased as her videos really took and became viral.

    “I mostly use it to help showcase different kinds of styles,” she said. “I just have fun with it.”

    Hall tries to post a video once a day and people from Illinois, Michigan and Kentucky have traveled to the store after seeing her TikToks.

    Sixty percent of their current sales are from online orders and TikTok is their main source of social media to the website, so a TikTok ban could mean a loss of sales and reaching potential customers, she said. 

    “Right now, we really don’t pay for any social media marketing, any ads, anything like that, and everything was organic for us,” Hall said. “It could definitely hurt the business — sales wise and even getting exposure to people that might be looking for something like us but can’t find it as easily.”

    Ohio House Bill 17

    In Ohio, House Bill 17 would prohibit state employees from using apps like TikTok on their state-issued devices. The bill would not apply to state employees personal devices. 

    State Rep. Jean Schmidt, R-Loveland, and Rep. D.J. Swearingen, R-Huron, are co-sponsors on the bill. HB 17 passed in the House over the summer and is the Senate Financial Institutions and Technology Committee. 

    The bill wouldn’t just limit TikTok. It would also ban certain apps like Weibo, Xiaohongshu and Alipay among others. It does take particular aim at TikTok and the messaging app WeChat by prohibiting any service “developed or provided by their respective parent companies ByteDance and Tencent.”

    Originally published by the Ohio Capital Journal. Republished here with permission.

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    Megan Henry, Ohio Capital Journal

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  • Scooter’s Dawg House in Mentor Opens for the Season on Saturday, March 30th

    Scooter’s Dawg House in Mentor Opens for the Season on Saturday, March 30th

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    Douglas Trattner

    A typical meal at Scooter’s Dawg House in Mentor.

    Just as many look to the buzzards’ annual return to Hinckley as the official harbinger of spring, others circle the date in late March or early April when Scooter’s Dawg House (9600 Blackbrook Rd., 440-354-8480) reopens the doors following its regular winter break. On Saturday, March 30, this popular hot dog shop in Mentor will officially kick off its 24th season.

    Located two miles south of Headlands Beach, the perennially busy shop attracts a steady stream of beachgoers, who come for the dawgs and stay for the fries. The menu features nearly two dozen signature dogs, each available in multiple sizes. The top-seller is the Chicago Dawg, which is loaded with mustard, tomato, dill pickle, relish, onion and celery salt.

    After the franks, the next most popular menu items are the french fries. The restaurant flies through 1,000 pounds of spuds per day, selling them in the form of fresh-cut fries in sizes that still flabbergast regulars. The “small” is more than enough for three people, while the “family” could satisfy an entire neighborhood. A couple years back, Scooter’s debuted a new size of fry, the “Tiny,” which of course is not, but still.

    The dog and fries are joined by burgers, hard and soft-serve ice cream, milkshakes and floats.

    Here is Scene’s review of the joint from 2017.

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    Douglas Trattner

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  • Cleveland City Council Passes Gaza Ceasefire Resolution

    Cleveland City Council Passes Gaza Ceasefire Resolution

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    Mark Oprea

    Council President Blaine Griffin long denounced support of a ceasefire resolution. On Monday, Council passed legislation supporting international aid sent to Gaza, by far the most affected by the Israel-Hamas War.

    After 17 weeks of protests, chanting, and heated public comment, a Gaza ceasefire resolution was passed in Cleveland City Council on Monday evening.

    The resolution, which passed unanimously and is meant to declare political sympathy for victims of the Israel-Hamas War along with condemning Hamas’ attacks on Oct. 7, was the prime focus of hundreds of protestors that filled Council Chambers since late last year.

    Many of the protesters were confused as to why, unlike councils in Akron or Columbus, Cleveland’s legislative body was seemingly tiptoeing around what appeared to be a plain acknowledgement of suffering.

    “This Council condemns the attacks in Israel on October 7th that lead to the loss of Israeli and American lives and the taking of hundreds of hostages,” the legislation passed Monday reads.

    “This Council and Clevelanders of all faiths and backgrounds have expressed profound concern for the innocent civilians suffering and are alarmed by the loss of tens of thousands of innocent Palestinian and American lives due to the war in Gaza,” it adds. “Further, this Council calls for international aid to go immediately and directly to the people of Gaza.”

    In an interview with Ideastream’s Abbey Marshall, Council President Blaine Griffin, who previously denounced a Council backing of a resolution, said that he felt obliged to follow the United Nations’ stance on Gaza. Earlier in the day, the U.N., after a similar amount of thumb twiddling, passed a resolution calling for “immediate ceasefire in Gaza.”

    “Even though the United States did not vote for it, they did not veto it,” Griffin told Ideastream on Monday. “That gave me the inclination that the United States is supportive of it, and even though they might not be fully supportive of it, at least it felt like we’re aligned with our government and the rest of the world.”

    He added, “Anytime you lose this amount of life, people in our community are hurt, so it’s the right thing to do.”

    Councilwoman Rebecca Mauer stood alone until now, giving an impassioned speech in favor of a resolution back in January hours after Griffin announced that council would consider no such legislation.

    Juan Collado Díaz, a community organizer who rallied a majority of the Gaza sympathy protests, told Scene Tuesday morning he was both relieved and unsatisfied with Griffin’s decision, which he saw as overly delayed.

    click to enlarge Juan Collado Díaz, a 23-year-old community organizer, has been helping to rally support for Cleveland's passing of a resolution since October. - Mark Oprea

    Mark Oprea

    Juan Collado Díaz, a 23-year-old community organizer, has been helping to rally support for Cleveland’s passing of a resolution since October.

    “They had 17 weeks to do that,” Collado Díaz said. “And how many kids got killed over the 17 weeks? I mean, I know a local government can’t do anything with international affairs. But they just felt their jobs were getting threatened.”

    “This wasn’t meant for freedom, or the liberation of Palestine,” he added. “More like, ‘Stop showing up every Monday.’”

    Since October, fighting between Israel and Hamas has led to 1,200 casualties in Israel’s borders, the New York Times reported, along with 250 hostages. In Gaza, which has been shaken and decimated by Israeli airstrikes, over 32,000 Palestinians, most of them women and children, have been killed.

    Collado Díaz said that there will still be a few members of the pro-Palestine coalition who attend Monday Council meetings, as to both interrogate the reasoning behind the 17-week delay and to continue the spirit of protests behind what Collado Díaz ultimately sees as a win.

    As it is, he said, for the city. “That Cleveland believes in a better world,” he said. “That we stand up against hatred.”

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    Mark Oprea

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  • At Last, Public Square Says Goodbye to its Jersey Barriers

    At Last, Public Square Says Goodbye to its Jersey Barriers

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    Mark Oprea

    Mayor Bibb oversaw the final end to Public Square’s Jersey barriers, on Monday.

    The day has come at last.

    No, the Browns didn’t clinch a Superbowl, nor did the city solve its uneven housing crisis. But the ugly, intrusive, grey Jersey barriers that have sat for the past eight years on Public Square are gone.

    And for good. (Not just for St. Patrick’s Day parades and other special events.)

    “Well, the day is finally here: We are removing the Jersey barriers in Public Square,” Mayor Justin Bibb said at a press conference on the square’s central stage Monday afternoon, in front of three bulldozers with metal clamps at the ready.

    Bibb framed the ceremony—a ceremony for concrete removal!—as a milestone harkening back to a minor campaign promise in 2021. That of which segued into a lengthy legal and financial battle, over two mayoral administrations, to bring Public Square into the image of how its makeover was designed.

    “We quickly realized there were a lot of things we had to do to make sure we got this moment right,” Bibb told the crowd. “And sometimes you have to go slow in order to go fast and do things the right way.”

    The barrier removal, which was kicked off by three sounds of airhorns, marked Public Square’s second phase of renovation since its first in 2016.

    As was approved by the city’s Design Review Board last May, the square is set to see 60 steel bollards installed in and around its area, nine that will be retractable “raptors” to let RTA buses in and out easily. Construction, expected to wrap up this summer, will also tighten the square’s crosswalk in half, from 93 to 45 feet, and give it a raised platform to make crossing more inviting to pedestrians.

    The makeover, eight years after James Corner Field Operations redesigned the space ahead of the Republican National Convention, brings up questions outside the realm of beautification.

    There are also public safety issues separate from keeping pedestrians, buses, cyclists and cars operating without any harm.

    There have been at least two shootings on Public Square since the one following Winterland’s tree lighting ceremony last November.

    Other than tout the city’s largest police academy graduation count—52 officers—in the past few years, Bibb turned to the square’s growing population count, with Sherwin William’s headquarters rising literally as he spoke, along with new tenants occupying 55 Public Square to the north.

    “The best thing we can do to keep Public Square safe and secure,” he said, “is to have more people, more economic activity, more economic energy.”

    The promise of which remains a mixed bag.

    Riding the high from a recent Washington Post bump (which glorified Cleveland’s job “leading the nation” in office-to-residential building conversions), Bibb, along with County Executive Chris Ronayne and RTA CEO India Birdsong-Terry, framed the development boost as a natural predecessor to, well, more people just coming to hang out.

    click to enlarge Ironically, Public Square's Gund Foundation Green was empty on Monday, prompting questions about how stakeholders will help populate the space outside of major events. - Mark Oprea

    Mark Oprea

    Ironically, Public Square’s Gund Foundation Green was empty on Monday, prompting questions about how stakeholders will help populate the space outside of major events.

    And still, 30 to 40 percent of the ground-floor retail facing Public Square is vacant. And ironically, despite the sunny 60 degree weather on Monday, the Gund Foundation Green behind the day’s speakers was entirely devoid of parkgoers.

    Others, namely passers-by watching the bulldozers haul concrete away, were confused at the spectacle in general.

    “Really? Since 2016? Why were they put here in the first place? There’s a reason, right?” Steve Harper, a Jehovah’s Witness who advertises in front of 200 Public Square, told Scene as his eyes studied the bulldozers.

    After Bollard Gate was explained to Harper, his thoughts aligned with that of a city planner. “I think they just need more people here. And people need things to come here for—I mean, what’s really here? You know?”

    Nearby to Harper, watching the same bulldozer trucks, Audrey Gerlach agreed.

    “That’s exactly our goal,” Gerlach, Downtown Cleveland, Inc.’s vice president of economic development, told Scene. “It’s not sustainable to produce big festivals on Public Square every day. But there are goals, of course, to create a regular environment of excitement and vibrancy through programming that is appropriately scaled for regular use.”

    And Gerlach should know. DCI will be taking over management of Public Square from the Group Plan Commission. Gerlach declined to say when DCI would take over programming, or if they would hire another general manager themselves as the current one retires.

    As for the 5,000 RTA riders a day that travel through Public Square, the transit agency announced that pick-up and drop-off will take place north on Superior Avenue until June 11, when construction wraps up this summer.

    And for the possibility of closing Public Square completely to buses in the future?

    “All things are on the table,” Bibb said.

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    Mark Oprea

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  • For a Handful of Lawyers in Cuyahoga County, Juvenile Cases Are Big Business

    For a Handful of Lawyers in Cuyahoga County, Juvenile Cases Are Big Business

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    Daniel Lozada for The Marshall Project

    Three attorneys collectively received more assignments from Judge Jennifer O’Malley, left, or her magistrates than the Juvenile Court’s other five judges combined. Judge Thomas F. O’Malley, left, has defended the use of appointed attorneys in public meetings. The two people are not related.

    This article was published in partnership with The Marshall Project, a nonprofit news organization covering the U.S. criminal justice system. Sign up for their newsletters, and follow them on Instagram, TikTok, Reddit and Facebook.

    The juvenile court system is supposed to ensure that young people accused of crimes have legal representation, even if their families can’t afford a lawyer.

    But in Cuyahoga County, some courtrooms resemble hiring halls for favored attorneys who get hundreds of assignments yearly, while others get none.

    According to the most recent year of invoices submitted between October 2022 through September 2023, the juvenile court paid at least 60 attorneys to represent hundreds of children accused of crimes. Of those, judges steered more than two-thirds of the work to just 10 of the lawyers, according to a Marshall Project – Cleveland analysis of the most recent case data and state reimbursement filings.

    Cuyahoga County Juvenile Court’s system of handpicking attorneys to represent children and parents appears to flout national best practices, state guidelines and the court’s own rules.

    For more than a year, community advocates have worried that the lop-sided appointments contribute to the high number of mostly Black children from Cuyahoga County ending up in adult prisons.

    Attorneys who sign up to take cases say there’s often no rhyme or reason to assignments or that favoritism has created a self-reinforcing system that advantages a select few attorneys.

    “Across the state, in too many places, the judiciary is more involved than they should be,” said Amy Borror, an expert in youth defense with The Gault Center, a national advocacy organization formerly known as the National Juvenile Defender Center. “And it sounds like Cuyahoga is kind of a shining example of that.”

    The Marshall Project – Cleveland examined the juvenile court’s appointment system and found that a single attorney, William Beck, handled one of every eight assignments given to private lawyers who represent kids accused of crimes.

    Beck, a lawyer in private practice, collected over $123,000 in one year on more than 150 cases defending kids accused of crimes. On top of that, judges put Beck on about 250 more assignments for other types of cases, bringing his total annual earnings to more than $292,000.


    Although state rules require county courts to regularly review their appointment systems, Cuyahoga County’s Juvenile Court does not. The Marshall Project – Cleveland matched local court data with thousands of state invoices that detailed payments over one year to private attorneys who represented children accused of crimes or adults in cases of child abuse, dependency or neglect.

    The analysis found that two judges fed Beck and some other top attorneys most of their assignments.

    Some attorneys made more in a year than the roughly $160,000 salary of the judges.

    Just four attorneys handled a third of the court’s abuse, dependency and neglect case assignments.

    “In the day-to-day operations of a court our size — one with 500 employees and that hears thousands of cases each year — sometimes elements get overlooked or missed until they are discovered,” the court’s administrator, Tim McDevitt, said in response to The Marshall Project – Cleveland’s findings.

    “Though we stand behind our appointments, we understand how it may appear, and appearances matter.”

    McDevitt responded to The Marshall Project – Cleveland on behalf of the court’s six judges.

    Court administrators said attorney quality and availability matter more than evenly distributing assignments. The officials maintain that there are too few qualified, experienced attorneys willing to take complex juvenile court cases and spend every day in court. By leaning on a small group of reliable attorneys, the court says it keeps cases moving, reducing the time children spend locked up or in the county’s custody.

    However, in response to questions from The Marshall Project – Cleveland, the court said that it now plans to modify how cases are assigned by the end of the year and create a new position to implement and monitor the new process. The court did not detail the planned changes.

    click to enlarge In one year, the court paid at least 60 attorneys to represent children accused of crimes. Of those, judges at the Cuyahoga County Juvenile Court steered more than two-thirds of the work to just 10 of the lawyers. - Sylvia Jarrus for The Marshall Project

    Sylvia Jarrus for The Marshall Project

    In one year, the court paid at least 60 attorneys to represent children accused of crimes. Of those, judges at the Cuyahoga County Juvenile Court steered more than two-thirds of the work to just 10 of the lawyers.

    How the appointment process works

    Each year, private attorneys apply to take cases of children accused of crimes and parents at risk of losing custody of their kids, or assignments as guardians representing the best interests of children in both types of cases.

    Court officials said that judges, magistrates, bailiffs and court staff all can pick attorneys — it varies in each of the six courtrooms — but the judges sign off.

    The court’s rules say attorneys should be picked in alphabetical order from a list of trained and qualified attorneys except under unique circumstances — or to keep cases moving.

    But ultimately, court officials said the choice boils down to one thing: judicial discretion.

    “Docket speed is incredibly important,” the court said in its explanation of why some attorneys are called on routinely.

    For example, three of the highest-earning attorneys — Beck, Paul Daher and Mark Schneider — collectively received more appointments on cases handled by Judge Jennifer O’Malley or her magistrates than the court’s other five judges combined.


    Relying on the availability of attorneys who are already assigned to cases “means fewer continuances, which decreases time in detention and custody, and reduces ‘wasted’ docket time, which allows all cases to be resolved faster,” McDevitt, the court’s administrator, said.

    And the pool of available attorneys is shrinking. When asked to re-submit their qualifications this year, only 57 of 95 lawyers reapplied.

    Looking for clear answers

    Greater Cleveland Congregations began scrutinizing the juvenile court’s appointed counsel system more than a year ago.

    The non-partisan group of more than 30 congregations and organizations grew concerned about Cuyahoga County leading Ohio in sending kids to adult court — a process called a bindover. More than 90% of the children were Black.

    In community listening sessions with parents and teens, two concerns surfaced: potential overcharging by prosecutors and poor legal representation by “public pretenders” — slang for free attorneys who don’t put up much of a fight.

    “This was an issue nobody was looking at,” Keisha Krumm, lead organizer and executive director said. The group learned that Cuyahoga County was unique among bigger courts in Ohio. Instead of giving most cases to a local public defender’s office, the judges relied a lot on private attorneys.

    “We were like: ‘Why is that?’” Krumm said. “And we could not get any clear answers.”

    Krumm said the group didn’t jump to conclusions on outcomes in bindover cases. But they did learn that some assigned attorneys weren’t qualified, and that county-employed public defenders seemed to have a better record of keeping children out of the adult system. In December, a report by a criminal justice reform group detailed these flaws. At the time, the court refuted the findings.

    “There’s harm that is happening. It is hard to pinpoint,” Krumm said. “We are calling attention to something that has long been like this, and we are trying to call attention to it and chip away at it. There’s a reason they are fighting to keep it the way it is … There are clear winners and losers. The assigned counsel are winning and the kids are losing.”

    Judges should not be making the appointments

    For more than four decades, the American Bar Association has said court appointments should not be made by judges to ensure attorneys are loyal to their clients and not the people giving them work.

    The Gault Center’s National Youth Defense Standards released in February disapproves of appointing lawyers “merely because they happen to be present in court at the time the assignment is made.”

    Court officials called the best practices non-binding and only advisory.

    “The way it works right now is if you’re a lawyer and I (as the judge) know you, all you have to do is be at the door, and I’m just going to keep feeding you cases,” said Richard Gibson, a Case Western Reserve University law professor and senior pastor at Elizabeth Baptist Church in Slavic Village. “And that begs the question of whether the system is fair, because at some point you’re not going to press against me (the judge) because I’m feeding you cases.”

    County courts have latitude but rules to follow

    The Ohio Supreme Court does give local courts “a good bit of discretion over its operations, and appointment of counsel is a local decision,” a spokesperson wrote in an email.

    Some counties have created taxpayer-funded public defender offices or hired non-profit legal aid groups. Cuyahoga County uses a mix of public defenders and private attorneys who sign up to take cases.

    Last year, the court agreed to assign public defenders to more delinquency cases after the county public defender argued his office was underutilized and pointed out “wildly inconsistent” practices by the different judges and magistrates.


    For a county to be reimbursed for paying private attorneys, the juvenile court must follow state rules that adhere to the Ohio Supreme Court standard of distributing assignments “as widely as possible.”

    Those rules include:

    • Using a “rotary” system that matches attorney expertise and qualifications with the severity and complexity of cases.
    • Making assignments that are independent from the influence of judges and elected officials.
    • Tracking assignments, attorney qualifications and each time attorneys turn down appointments.

    In the year ending October 2023, Ohio reimbursed Cuyahoga County about $3.7 million for private attorneys assigned to juvenile cases. The payments come through the state public defender’s office, which also reimburses the county for local public defenders. The state covered an unprecedented 100% of costs for indigent defense during the pandemic and currently covers 85%.

    “The current rates are unimaginably huge,” said Borror, who worked 13 years as legislative liaison and deputy director at the state defender’s office. “And that gives the state, I think, a whole lot of leverage to encourage counties to meet state standards.”

    The Public Defender Commission is set to discuss the local court’s use of assigned counsel at its March 22 meeting. If the commission decides the court broke the rules, it would have at least 90 days to fix violations before losing reimbursements.

    Assignments flow to a handful of attorneys

    The Marshall Project – Cleveland heard from more than a dozen attorneys eligible to take juvenile cases in Cuyahoga County.

    In general, most attorneys are aware that the court, for the most part, doesn’t use the list it keeps to pick attorneys for assignments.

    The busiest attorneys said that they roam the halls or wait outside the courtrooms for a bailiff or clerk in desperate need of an attorney to represent a child in the detention center arrested hours earlier. Others said staff from certain courtrooms send out text message blasts or emails to groups of attorneys looking for assignments.

    Beck earns more than any attorney on the appointed counsel list. He regularly bills the court for six-day work weeks, and sometimes Sundays, too. That’s in addition to his work as the regional vice president and chief legal counsel for a local title agency.

    “Honored” by the amount of work he receives, the former juvenile prosecuting attorney and probation officer would not directly answer questions about how he juggles so many cases or why 70% of his assignments come from just two of the court’s six judges.

    “Credit must be given to the thoughtful Judges that remain focused on assessing the needs of each case and ensuring that the most skilled professionals are called upon to protect the rights of all those in need,” he said in an email.

    In response to The Marshall Project – Cleveland’s questions, court officials said that Beck is experienced, competent, reliable and, unlike most private attorneys and all of the public defender’s juvenile defense lawyers, African American. “For some cases and some families, his race is not a trivial consideration,” the court said.

    Cuyahoga County’s process deviates from Ohio’s other juvenile courts

    The process for picking attorneys for juvenile court cases in two other large Ohio counties differs from Cuyahoga County in two ways: judges and magistrates rarely directly appoint attorneys and courts stick to a rotation.

    In Franklin County, juvenile court cases are first assigned to the public defender’s office. If there’s a conflict, a court assignment clerk distributes the cases to vetted private attorneys. Several attorneys sign up to sit in court for half of a day, ready to take cases and quickly meet clients.

    Only under rare circumstances, like a client needing a Spanish-speaking attorney, would a judge or magistrate get directly involved.

    “We are committed to not having attorney steering,” Rebecca Steele, chief of the office’s juvenile unit. “It’s a fair system …Fair to the attorneys and fair to the clients.”

    When there are conflicts or all its attorneys are at capacity, the Public Defender’s office in Hamilton County assigns delinquency cases to the next name on a list of private lawyers qualified to handle the criminal charges.

    Attorneys aren’t “beholden to judges” if the public defender’s office manages the appointments, said Angela Chang, who directs the office’s youth division.

    “Granting case assignment responsibility to the Public Defender does not make the process less political — it just shifts it to an unelected office that is not answerable to the voters,” administrator McDevitt said. “Additionally, judges are ultimately responsible for ensuring that youth and families have the best representation available.”

    That doesn’t mean there aren’t other places where best practices and state rules aren’t followed. In Summit County, children with delinquency cases are mostly represented by nonprofit legal defenders. But in cases where there are conflicts, there’s “no set rotating system” and bailiffs assign the private attorneys, a court spokesperson said.

    Other attorneys see a political process

    Many attorneys say no matter how much you hustle, case assignments boil down to friendships, politics, campaign donations — or even sharing an alma mater. When asked by reporters, attorneys could easily name the attorneys who got the most cases.

    “It could be any number of things, but favoritism, nepotism and cronyism come to mind,” said one attorney who had received only a few appointments after a year on the list.

    In Ohio, it is legal and common for attorneys to donate politically to a judge’s campaign, even judges who assign them cases. Some — but not all — of the attorneys who get a high number of appointments donated.

    When Judge Jennifer O’Malley first ran for election in 2018, two top-earning attorneys — Mark Schneider and Christopher Lenahan — donated the maximum amount of $600 and later got a significant number of assignments from her.

    At a fundraiser that year, Administrative Judge Thomas F. O’Malley got maximum contributions from only four donors — Paul Daher, Schneider, Lenahan and his wife. The three lawyers got nearly a third of appointments approved by the judge, who has defended the court’s assignment process in public meetings.

    Other judges got top-dollar contributions from either Lenahan, Daher, Schneider, Mattes or Beck, who gives less frequently.

    Floyd, the only judge to give more cases to public defenders than private attorneys, got nothing from the top five attorneys, except for $200 from Daher.

    Daniel Margolis, a seasoned attorney who practiced in juvenile court for years, rejoined the appointed counsel list last year after a hiatus for health reasons. In that time, Margolis said he hasn’t gotten a single call about a case. That could be because he hasn’t gone down to the court to schmooze, he said. Or because some judges and magistrates prefer to appoint attorneys who aren’t aggressive and don’t file as many motions and “can be counted on to move the docket and not make a fuss.”

    Funneling cases to a few attorneys deprives others of gaining experience, several attorneys said. Some questioned how attorneys who get hundreds of cases could possibly give each the attention it deserves.

    “In too many instances, I visit youth (in the detention center) who have almost no contact with counsel until a few days before the hearing,” said Pastor Gibson, who has served as president of the juvenile court’s advisory board, “and even that contact was, well, limited.”

    Uncomplicated cases — an unruly case or probation violation — shouldn’t take long to resolve, most attorneys agreed. But serious crimes should take more time, and a defense attorney who is willing to do whatever is necessary. That is particularly true with cases where children can be transferred to adult court and face prison time.

    “If they know that they have to stay in the good graces of the judge… their job isn’t to make the court’s job easy,” Borror said. “And often, when defense attorneys do a really good job as far as zealously representing their client, as far as zealously investigating cases, they muddy things up and they make judges and prosecutors and everybody else’s jobs harder, but that’s actually what they’re supposed to do.”

    How we analyzed juvenile court data

    In order to study how private attorneys are assigned cases in Cuyahoga County Juvenile Court, the Marshall Project – Cleveland collected data from three sources.

    The Office of the Ohio Public Defender, which reimburses counties for court-appointed lawyers, provided data through September 2023 about invoices, also called fee bills, which detail what attorneys billed the county and the type of cases they took.

    The fee bills identify lawyers by their registration numbers, which we merged with an Ohio Supreme Court database of attorney licensures. Judges are identified on the handwritten fee bills, but it took state officials weeks to physically scan them for just a handful of the top attorneys.

    So, we requested from the court a simple list of case numbers and the judges assigned to them. Using unique case numbers, we matched the attorneys to the judges who appointed them.

    We limited our analysis to cases of delinquency — or kids accused of crimes — and child abuse, dependency or neglect. Almost 13,000 fee bills from 2020 through 2023 were matched with case assignments listing judges. We took a closer look at roughly 5,655 fee bills reimbursed in the 12-month period ending September 2023, the most recent data available.

    The totals we captured are a modest undercount. Less than 4% of cases could not be matched to an assigned judge and were excluded from the analysis out of an abundance of caution.

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    Doug Livingston and Rachel Dissell, The Marshall Project

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  • Fridrich Bicycle, Oldest Bike Shop in Cleveland, to Close This Year

    Fridrich Bicycle, Oldest Bike Shop in Cleveland, to Close This Year

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    Mark Oprea

    After nearly a century-and-a-half in business, Fridrich Bicycle, Cleveland’s oldest continuously-owned bike shop will be going out of business this year.

    For all the change it has seen over the past 141 years it’s been in business in Ohio City, there’s been one throughline of consistency: Fridrich Bicycle has focused on making friends across Cleveland a little more than making tremendous profits.

    “We give, to my knowledge, the best customer service in the entire bike industry here in Northern Ohio,” owner Charles Fridrich told Scene from a chair in his shop on Thursday. “That’s my belief. Because I insist upon it.”

    That warm impression on many long-time Clevelanders’ hearts is why, according to Fridrich and his fans, 2024 is a somber year. As sometime in the next few months, after nearly a century and a half selling everything from discounted Schwinns to toboggan sleds, Fridrich Bicycles will be no more.

    Well, at least that’s a possibility. Ever since the start of the pandemic years, Fridrich said he’d been contemplating retirement, a move beckoned by his wavering health and trouble with staffing since 2021. While Fridrich had 15 employees pre-Covid, these days he only has about five.

    “I’ve thought about this thing every which way, and sadly, I have no choice but to sell,” Fridrich, who’s 83, said. “We are going to be going out of business… the most honest word I can use for you is, well, eventually.”

    Fridrich’s decision to close up shop is also, in part, a reaction to an evolving Ohio City, a neighborhood enamored with a future dotted with more development. One of the three owners Fridrich’s “in talks” with, he said, hinted at tearing down the bike shop to make way for apartments and ground-floor retail. (A similar fate that befell the Old Fashioned Hotdogs diner a few blocks west, in 2020.) Others might try to keep the shop open.

    It’s also a wonder to Fridrich how, in the era of four-figure e-bikes and bike lane obsession, a legacy, no-bull cycle shop like his can once again turn great profits.

    Hundreds of similar shops across the country, responding to a December survey by Bicycle Retailer, said that final-quarter 2023 was their worst for sales in recent memory. More than half blamed the Amazons of the industry—the direct-to-door, assemble-it-yourself bikes with West Coast aesthetics that, more often than not, pale in quality compared to traditional competitors.

    A trend that is at odds with Cleveland’s current zeitgeist. Just like Slavic Village’s Fleet Bike Shop closing after 53 years in business, Fridrich shutting his doors this spring or summer puts a dent in a local industry that’s been increasingly lobbying, with success, for safer streets. And, after 13 years of advocacy, the Lorain Midway cycle track will be, if all goes according to plan, opening right outside Fridrich’s door later this decade.

    Ironically enough, Midway hype or protected bike lanes doesn’t change Fridrich’s mood: “Honestly? I’m rather apathetic about it.”

    A Gilded Age business venture at the height of the American bicycle craze, the original Fridrich shop grew out of a partnership between German immigrant Joseph W. Fridrich and coal entrepreneur August Schmidt. The Fridrichs, according to Cleveland Historical, were eager to tap into a growing market, and opened up a small store on Lorain Avenue. (In 1909, Cleveland Historical suggests, not 1883.)

    Come the 1960s, the Fridrichs had solidified their reputation as budget-friendly pals to all. Joseph J. Fridrich, known as “J.J.,” even created, in the shop basement, a competitor to the Schwinns, Columbias and Murrays that dominated the national market. But his was $29.95, half the cost. J.J. called it, probably with a wink, the “Fridrich Cadillac.”

    “It was a total value bike,” Charles Fridrich recalled. “Nothing fancy. Just in red or blue. And we sold hundreds of them.”

    click to enlarge Charles "Chuck" Fridrich, 83, the owner of Fridrich Bicycle since his father died in 1992. After 141 years in business, Fridrich said he's looking to sell. - Mark Oprea

    Mark Oprea

    Charles “Chuck” Fridrich, 83, the owner of Fridrich Bicycle since his father died in 1992. After 141 years in business, Fridrich said he’s looking to sell.

    click to enlarge Fridrich's shop had long valued customer service over a clean, crisp image. "People just see an old shop," Charles Fridrich said. "They see this creaky floor. It's part of the ambience of the place." - Mark Oprea

    Mark Oprea

    Fridrich’s shop had long valued customer service over a clean, crisp image. “People just see an old shop,” Charles Fridrich said. “They see this creaky floor. It’s part of the ambience of the place.”

    J.J. died  in 1992, above the shop he ran with Charles’ occasional help for three decades. Charles, on the other hand, had just gotten married a second time, and had a pretty passionate career in professional bowling. But his father had died. His four siblings had all moved out West. He had no choice.

    “The company attorney came along, and dumped a big wad of keys in my hand, and said, ‘You got to run this place,’” Charles said. “And that was not my plan.”

    Fridrich himself, a white-haired man with a calm demeanor, seems to have shaped his cycle shop to echo his own personality. Bikes are lined carefully parallel to children’s sleds. A framed article in the West Side Sun hangs in front of a random pair of cleats, next to a note to customers that reads, “Take care of your bike.” Everyone who wheeled their Fujis or Raleighs into Fridrich’s on Thursday were greeted on a first-name basis.

    It’s why everyone who’s dealt with them has walked away with fond memories.

    “One of the last great stores in Cleveland,” Shannon Richey, a former Ohio City resident, wrote to Scene. They “always gave top quality work with fair pricing. Never tried to overcharge or do unnecessary work. A great ethic—and I referred many customers there because of it.”

    Yet, is it time for Fridrich to move on? Most of the store’s brick-colored floor looks like it had been beat up by a roller derby. Out-of-order candy dispensers sit next to two-for-$1 water bottles. Giant white tarps hang close to chipped ceiling tiles, tarps that funnel rainwater into orange Home Depot buckets. “It’s like Swiss cheese up there,” employee Chrystal Smith told Scene, looking up at the roof.

    All charm, according to Fridrich.

    “People just see an old store,” he said. “They see this creaky floor—it’s part of the ambiance of the place. And they’re just kind of like, ‘Oh, my God, they’re still here. I got my first bike when I was 14.’ Or this or that. And you hear this from so many.”

    As Fridrich took a call from the city—his sidewalk outside was in bad need of repair—Dennis Marin walked into the shop. He looked around, and said to clerk Rodger Zanny with his hand at his waist, “Wow, I haven’t been in here since I was this tall.”

    When Marin was told that Fridrich, after 141 years in business, would be closing this year, his excitement turned to sadness-tinged nostalgia. He thought of the purple Cool Ghoul bike his dad bought him as a kid.

    “I don’t know how else to say it,” Marin, 57, said. “It’s just sad. Sad to see the mom and pops go out of business. And everything just goes more Walmart, Walmart, Walmart.”

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    Mark Oprea

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  • Cleveland Promised Oversight of Police Surveillance. The Work Hasn’t Been Done

    Cleveland Promised Oversight of Police Surveillance. The Work Hasn’t Been Done

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    Ross Mantle for The Marshall Project

    Four surveillance cameras are at the intersection of West Boulevard and West 101st Street in Cleveland.

    This article was published in partnership with The Marshall Project, a nonprofit news organization covering the U.S. criminal justice system. Sign up for their newsletters, and follow them on Instagram, TikTok, Reddit and Facebook.

    As Cleveland spends millions on new license plate readers and surveillance cameras, some residents fear that police officers will soon be able to track their movements.

    Activists say police could feed the camera images into facial recognition software to identify people on the street or near crime scenes, leading to discriminatory policing practices, especially in communities of color.

    The concerns are amplified after Mayor Justin Bibb’s stalled efforts in creating a technology advisory committee to address privacy and civil rights concerns over how police use the powerful surveillance tools.

    click to enlarge At a September 2022 news conference, Mayor Justin Bibb discussed steps the city has taken to improve policing in the city. - Daniel Lozada for The Marshall Project

    Daniel Lozada for The Marshall Project

    At a September 2022 news conference, Mayor Justin Bibb discussed steps the city has taken to improve policing in the city.

    Bibb’s pledge to form the committee from City Hall employees came after The Marshall Project – Cleveland reported in September 2022 that the city lagged behind others in sharing policies and details when police deploy powerful digital tools.

    Kareem Henton, a leader of Black Lives Matter Cleveland, said the city can’t be trusted to operate the cameras and other electronic tools without citizen oversight.

    “We know they’re not truthful,” Henton said. “Look at their past. It’s all intentional. They get these tools and will soon sneak in other ways to use them.”

    Cleveland police have faced numerous civil rights lawsuits and paid out millions to settle excessive force claims since 2010.

    Sarah Johnson, the mayor’s spokesperson, said the committee is designed to increase transparency and foster dialogue about technology being used by Cleveland police. The committee’s work will not be limited to camera deployment, she added.

    A meeting is now scheduled for March 25.

    “Public Safety is our number one priority and we want to collaborate with the citizens, as we all want the same outcome, a safer city,” Johnson wrote in an email. “There are a lot of technological advancements that will enhance our ability to better serve the residents. We want to move forward with transparency.”

    Since early 2023, The Marshall Project – Cleveland has repeatedly asked the Bibb administration for committee updates. Leaders reiterated that planning was ongoing — but it wasn’t, records show.

    In fact, no movement occurred until early February of this year, a week after The Marshall Project – Cleveland again asked about Bibb’s 15-month-old promise.

    On Feb. 6, Jakimah Dye, Cleveland’s assistant safety director, sent emails seeking volunteers for a closed-door committee to meet March 25 to “increase communication, transparency and to provide updates on technology utilized by” police, records show.

    Emails went to members of the Police Department, Public Safety, Information Technology and the Police Accountability Team, records show.

    Among other duties, the committee’s focus is to review technologies already in place, the technology’s purpose, vendor contracts and whether using the tools violates constitutional protections, records show.

    Dye could not provide any details about the Technology Advisory Committee when questioned during the council’s Safety Committee Feb. 7 meeting by Councilman Mike Polensek, who chairs the Committee.

    Polensek told Dye he would like the technology committee to appear before the Safety Committee to discuss its work.

    The following week, The Marshall Project – Cleveland asked then-Safety Director Karrie Howard why his top aide could not provide details on the Technology Advisory Committee.

    Howard acknowledged he had no public records, aside from the emails, that show he did any work toward forming the committee during the past 15 months. But he stressed the committee idea remained at the forefront of his office goals.

    “I had it written on my whiteboard,” Howard said. “That is where I do my best thinking.”

    He also said the committee would not meet in public but would instead issue a report after a quarterly meeting. When asked how taxpayers could rely on the accuracy of the reports compiled from those closed-door meetings, Howard said: “You’ll have to trust us.”

    Weeks later, Howard abruptly resigned.

    The committee will consist of 10 people from the city’s departments of Information Technology, Police, Public Safety, the Police Accountability Team and the Community Police Commission.

    “The Technology Advisory Committee is one of many investments by the Department of Public Safety and the City of Cleveland to provide the most advanced and effective policing to our citizens, maintaining a collaborative spirit in the heart of everything we do,” according to a statement from Bibb’s spokeswoman.

    Many other cities that fell under federal consent decree agreements to reform their troubled departments have become more transparent over the deployment of cameras and other technology.

    The police often explain to citizen oversight panels details such as whether any data will be collected and for how long it will be kept. The police also have to detail any potential infringements on people’s privacy and civil rights, and what safeguards are in place to guard against misuse.

    The consent decree reached between the Cleveland Division of Police and the U.S. Department of Justice in 2015 created a blueprint designed to repair community relationships and reduce excessive force complaints, which have plagued the division and largely triggered the federal intervention.

    Created under the consent decree, the Cleveland Community Police Commission consists of citizen members who gather community feedback and review police policies and training related to transparency, bias and how police interact with the residents.

    The commission can also override police discipline decisions made by the safety director and police chief. The independent body of 13 members draws its budget from the city’s General Fund.

    The Cleveland Community Police Commission urged Bibb in May 2022 to form a technology committee.

    The Bibb administration needs to act quickly to form the technology committee to prevent potential abuses, said Jason Goodrick, interim executive director of the Cleveland Community Police Commission.

    click to enlarge A sign marks the presence of Cleveland police surveillance cameras at the intersection of Detroit Avenue and West 89th Street in Cleveland. - Ross Mantle for The Marshall Project

    Ross Mantle for The Marshall Project

    A sign marks the presence of Cleveland police surveillance cameras at the intersection of Detroit Avenue and West 89th Street in Cleveland.

    “The only way to identify misuse is by a committee,” Goodrick told The Marshall Project – Cleveland. “The police commission is taking this seriously. It’s politics above good policy at City Hall.”

    Since Bibb announced his pledge to create the technology committee, the city has spent millions more on new high-tech tools.

    On Aug. 8, the city installed its first Flock License Plate Reader Camera. Within two months, 100 of them were installed across the city at high-traffic intersections, records show. The total cost is $250,000.

    The license plate readers take still photos of passing vehicles to scan their plates. Each scan is logged and cross-checked with a database to see if police are searching for the vehicle.

    If an officer issues an alert for a license plate for things such as a stolen car or an Amber Alert for missing children, the system will signal the officer.

    The city created a policy governing the use of the readers. In a statement, Sgt. Wilfredo Diaz, a police spokesperson, declined to reveal the camera locations.

    As of Feb. 15, the city has deployed 125 in-car dash cameras with license-plate readers. Another 175 cameras will be deployed later. Each camera costs nearly $6,300, totaling nearly $1.9 million.

    The in-car dash cameras have been installed, but they will not go live until a final policy is completed, Diaz said in a statement.

    The city plans to have the Community Police Commission, the Department of Justice and federal monitors review the policy before the tools are activated, the statement said.

    Police Chief Wayne Drummond told the City Council’s Safety Committee on Feb. 7 that police are taking steps to prevent any privacy abuses with the 100 Flock cameras by limiting access to a small number of officials.

    He called the Flock cameras an “invaluable tool” that helped solve 12 homicides since they came online last year.

    Cleveland leaders say they want to avoid lawsuits over the technology filed by residents in other cities.

    “The privacy standpoint is really important to understand,” Drummond, who is now the interim safety director, told the Safety Committee.

    “We’re not looking at individuals. We’re looking at vehicles. We’re not targeting anyone.”

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    Mark Puente, The Marshall Project

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  • Ohio Redistricting Reform Supporters Outline Problem and Proposal in Panel

    Ohio Redistricting Reform Supporters Outline Problem and Proposal in Panel

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    (Photo by Graham Stokes for Ohio Capital Journal)

    The Ohio Redistricting Commission meeting, September 20, 2023, in the Lobby Hearing Room at the James A. Rhodes Office Tower in Columbus, Ohio.

    Some of the leaders of a campaign to reform redistricting in Ohio say the process of drawing districts may be complicated, but making necessary changes to end gerrymandering isn’t: “Political insiders have no business being in the process.”

    In a Monday panel discussion on Ohio State University’s campus, retired Ohio Supreme Court Chief Justice Maureen O’Connor, League of Women Voters of Ohio Director Jen Miller, political science professor Ange-Marie Hancock, law professor Steven Huefner, and the Brennan Center Democracy Program’s Yurij Rudensky discussed the impact of gerrymandering on political power, and why a third try at redistricting reform needs to be on the public’s radar if it hits the ballots in November.

    The panel members urged support for an initiative created by the coalition Citizens Not Politicians, in conjunction with O’Connor and what she calls “a group of brainiacs,” who developed the proposed ballot measure to undo the “failings” of voter-approved reforms made in 2015 and 2018 through separate constitutional amendments.

    “These two amendments were sold as the greatest thing since chocolate milk and sliced bread,” O’Connor said. “I mean, they just thought this was going to be the answer. It was not.”

    The drafters had perhaps known the amendments would not go as far as voters hoped, O’Connor posited.

    “As a result, there’s language in (the previous amendments) that limits the power of the people and enhances the power of the legislature,” according to the retired chief justice.

    Rudensky went so far as to argue that the 2015 and 2018 measures weren’t reforms at all because the measures “didn’t change anything.”

    “The reality is what those amendments demonstrated is that political insiders have no business being in the process,” Rudensky said. “As soon as they got the pen after those amendments, what they said are the safeguards are just there as aspirations.”

    In the last two years, the redistricting process was overseen by the Ohio Redistricting Commission, a group fully made up of elected officials, the majority of which were members of the GOP. Bipartisan co-chairs led the efforts, along with Republican Gov. Mike DeWine, Republican Auditor of State Keith Faber, Republican Secretary of State Frank LaRose, and Republican state Sen. Rob McColley in the most recent round of commission meetings. The two Democratic seats that completed the commission were most recently filled by House Minority Leader Allison Russo and Senate Minority Leader Nickie Antonio.

    This version of the commission was the only version to adopt a district map with bipartisan agreement, something that helped the Statehouse district map, adopted in September 2023, when it was challenged in the Ohio Supreme Court. Justices cited the agreement as a key reason the majority ruled to leave the map in place, despite arguments that the newest ORC map is unduly partisan.

    The five other versions of maps adopted by the commission were struck down by the court due to unconstitutional partisan lean. The makeup of the court was different than the court that oversaw the challenge of the September map in one important area: then-Chief Justice Maureen O’Connor served as the swing vote that resulted in the rejection of those five Statehouse maps, and for that matter, the only two U.S. congressional district maps ever drawn.

    The congressional map that is currently being used is still one ruled unconstitutional by the O’Connor-led state supreme court.

    “The resulting maps clearly opened the door so that a supermajority will be established, and once that happens, unless there’s a change, such as the constitutional amendment that’s going to be on in November, this is self-perpetuating,” O’Connor said in the Monday panel. “This will go on and on and on.”

    The new measure would depart from previous redistricting reforms, the supporters said on Monday, by bringing about an independent commission to redraw the district maps, a commission that would be chosen through a vetting process done by judges and bipartisan members of a screening committee.

    This main goal of the new constitutional amendment – which is still in the signature-collection stage before it can be approved to appear on the November general election ballot – would take the map-drawing process for Statehouse and congressional districts out of the hands of elected officials, something those on the panel said has been the downfall of the previous reforms.

    But with the previous reforms not far off in Ohio’s history, panelist addressed concerns that voter exhaustion over the redistricting issue could come into play and cause Ohioans to wonder why yet another redistricting reform would matter.

    “The biggest thing I get as a concern is once again the court would not have the power, or concern that there would still be loopholes,” Miller said. “I’m proud to say that a lot of brilliant folks designed this policy to make sure that we have lots of guardrails, so that we can truly end gerrymandering.”

    The implementation of a new constitutional amendment on redistricting wouldn’t necessarily flip the political makeup of the state on its head, and it may not even change the majorities in the state, but it would bring Ohio’s partisanship down to levels that match voting trends, O’Connor argued.

    “There will be, in all probability, more Republicans members of the Ohio General Assembly than Democrats when this is done, but it won’t be a supermajority,” according to O’Connor, a registered Republican herself.

    Without the “wildly inflated numbers” in the majority, O’Connor said the impact will be widely seen, bringing more difficulty in overriding a governor’s vetoes, for example, and creating an legislative environment that will “force the representatives to work with one another.”

    “There will be products that are not extreme,” she said. “In other words, their legislation will be tempered by the fact that there’s a new mindset: we’ve got to work together and we need to work for the citizens; not lobbyists, not the people who funded our campaigns, not political bosses in Columbus or in my local county.”

    Despite their hope for change through the proposed amendments, the panelists didn’t mince words about the work still to be done even if the reforms are approved by voters.

    “Yes, there are changes that would come about as part of this, but there’s also … a lot of oversight and implementation that would have to take place afterward as well,” Hancock said.

    That would include making sure redistricting meetings are public and the work is done before the eyes of Ohioans.

    “Voters want to know that folks are not taking advantage, that folks are doing what they’re supposed to do, what their oath of office demands,” Hancock said.

    Originally published by the Ohio Capital Journal. Republished here with permission.

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    Susan Tebben, The Ohio Capital Journal

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  • New Zoning Rules Leave Joe’s BBQ in a Tough Spot in Brimfield Township

    New Zoning Rules Leave Joe’s BBQ in a Tough Spot in Brimfield Township

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    Douglas Trattner

    Joe Menendez of Joe’s Barbecue

    Despite being a mobile food stand in rural Brimfield Township, Joe’s Barbecue has attracted a lot of attention. Most of the buzz has been positive, arriving in the form of praise for the brisket, ribs and pulled pork that are smoked onsite in a massive barbecue pit. But lately, the grassroots business has been generating a lot of noise after being temporarily shuttered over some administrative entanglements that could have long-term implications. Owner Joe Menendez says that he and his business are being unfairly targeted.

    “It’s been going on forever,” says Menendez. “I’ve dodged bullets since 2018 or 2019. This is the first time it’s affected my business in a significant amount. There have been single days where I had to close to go to zoning meetings, but this is the first time it’s actually gotten to me.”

    Up until now, Menendez has dealt with the obstacles mostly in good spirits. His is an unconventional business model that was bound to produce some friction in Brimfield, located four miles south of Kent State. The self-taught cook has been working this corner since late 2017, when he sold ribs from the shade of a pop-up tent. His uncle owned the property, a corner parcel at a busy intersection, so the location was a no-brainer. As business improved, so did the setup. These days, instead of a wee smoker and a tent, Menendez prepares the food inside an attractive wood-sided trailer and his staff sells it from an adjacent food truck.

    Early on, Menendez operated under a pretty standard mobile food vendor permit. That was subsequently converted to a temporary use permit that was renewed annually. Soon after, however, the zoning board decided those permits needed to be renewed every six months. Then they were good for only six months out of the year. Then just 90 days, meaning that folks like Menendez could operate their businesses for just three months per year. That latest change to the permit rules even ruffled the feathers of one of the people tasked with voting for or against it.

    “The zoning board proposed a change to the process that would make the permit good for only 90 days, and that permit can only be applied for once a year by each business entity,” explains Nic Coia, one of the three trustees who oversee the day-to-day operations in Brimfield Township. “I was against it. I did not vote in favor of that. But I was outnumbered, and it passed.”

    Menendez assigns the blame for the hassles on a small but vocal group, who have been making relentless complaints about his business. He feels like they have sympathetic ears both on the zoning commission, which drafts the rules, and the board of trustees, which votes on them. In addition to Coia, those trustees include Sue Fields and Mike Kostensky. Kostensky happens to run a restaurant called Mike’s Place, which is located two and a half miles up the road from Joe’s Barbecue.

    Over the past couple years, Menedez has been working on the next phase of his barbecue business. His plans called for demolishing the vacant commercial building on the parcel he purchased from his uncle – long home to Sully’s Tavern – and replacing it with a brick-and-mortar restaurant. In return for assurances that he would make progress on his plans – namely razing the Sully’s structure – Menendez was granted a variance that would allow him to operate for a full year as opposed to just 90 days.

    At the very next meeting, Menendez was blindsided by another administrative obstruction, this one potentially fatal to Joe’s Barbecue. Once again, Coia vociferously objected to the rule change.

    “The zoning commission asked the board of trustees to approve a zoning amendment that would not allow a temporary use permit on any property that doesn’t’ have a primary use building,” Coia states. “That’s when I spoke out.”

    To Coia, the change seemed unfairly targeted at one business: Joe’s Barbecue. Indeed, not only did it seem that way, it sounded that way as well.

    “There was actually a zoning commission member who was present at those hearings who said, ‘Well, we don’t want another Joe’s Barbecue situation here in the township, this is why we’re doing it,” Coia recalls. Because that commission member was “targeting” a specific business, Coia voiced his objection and voted no, but was in the minority once again.

    In this instance, Menedez was spared by a grandfather clause that allows him to continue operating under his one-year permit, which he was granted through a variance. But when that permit expires, he’ll need to request two variances: one for the 90-day issue and the other for the vacant-property clause.

    Kostensky, the restaurant owner/township trustee, says that the zoning rule changes are not aimed solely at Menendez and his barbecue trailer. They were drafted to counter the nuisance of itinerant vendors, who set up shop without respect for the community or property owners.

    “The amount of complaints we were getting from residents, we had to do something,” Kostensky explains. “These fly-by-night vendors, they look for a piece of property that there’s not a building on it. They’ll set up for a couple days until they’re chased away. We had to put some kind of teeth into this.”

    Asked whether or not there exists a conflict of interest – even an appearance of impropriety – for a restaurant owner to vote on legislation that affects a competitor, Kostensky says no.

    “I talked to our legal counsel and he said, the way he looked through it, there’s nothing I’m doing wrong because the legislation is not just for Joe’s Barbecue, it’s for everything – the rug dealers, the t-shirt guys, the people who come around and sell plants,” he said.

    All Kostensky wants, he adds, is to make Brimfield an attractive, commercially diverse place for residents and visitors.

    “Look at the city of Kent,” he says. “It’s beautiful, they have so many options. I want Joe to succeed whether I like him or not because I need a place like Joe’s, I need a place that is a destination. Pizza Hut is not a destination. I would like nothing more than for him to get his restaurant open. It would be perfect.”

    Ironically, it was none of the above snafus that caused Joe’s Barbecue to close this week. His food vendor license, which was filed in his home county of Summit, had expired. When he petitioned the health department of Portage County, where he operates, for a renewal, he was again stunned by what he claims are new and dubious requirements.

    “Somehow the language changed from having to move the trailers off the lot every 40 days to having to conduct business in a separate location every 40 days,” says an obviously infuriated Menendez. “I’ve been quiet the whole time because I didn’t want to rock the boat, but it hasn’t gotten me anywhere.”

    According to Menendez, I was one of 67,000 unique customers to visit Joe’s Barbecue since it opened. The trailer is open Wednesdays through Sundays from noon until sold out, which it does most days. The owner says that throughout this latest round of drama, numerous people have extended invitations for him to set up shop on their property. He still plans to put down roots right where he is, he notes, but he’s being more cautious than ever.

    “The zoning department is pushing me to do this as fast as possible, but I’m not going to go as fast as possible, I’m going to go as safely as possible,” he says. “First off, I don’t trust the township; I’m hesitant to spend a million bucks on a building in this township that’s trying to close me down.”

    Prior to being shut down, Menendez placed his weekly order for food, an invoice totaling $6,000. That on top of the payroll that he refuses to stop paying has motivated him to do something bold. This weekend, from Friday through Sunday, he will offer his food for free, donations only.

    “A food establishment is defined as an entity that provides food made for individual consumption that charges a fee or required donation,” says Menendez, outlining the loophole.

    He knows that the maneuver is a temporary one – and not a preferred way of doing business.

    “I don’t want to run on donations, that’s terrifying,” he says. “I literally just want to sell barbecue, that’s the whole goal. I just want to make my shit as good as possible and then build a restaurant so I can make it better.”

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    Douglas Trattner

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  • He’s in an Ohio Prison for Exposing Someone to HIV – Even Though He Couldn’t Transmit the Virus

    He’s in an Ohio Prison for Exposing Someone to HIV – Even Though He Couldn’t Transmit the Virus

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    (Candice Evers for The Marshall Project)

    This article was published in partnership with The Marshall Project, a nonprofit news organization covering the U.S. criminal justice system, and The Buckeye Flame. Sign up for The Marshall Project’s newsletters, and follow them on Instagram, TikTok, Reddit and Facebook.

    Caymir Weaver kept his gaze forward and his jaw set as a county judge chastised him during an October court date.

    “You disrespect everything that’s proper and moral and ethical,” Mahoning County Common Pleas Judge R. Scott Krichbaum told him.

    Weaver was used to being judged for having HIV. He’d had it since he was born. But now he was facing time in prison for it.

    Months earlier, the 22-year-old had reconnected with a high school friend. After chatting on social media, they hung out, and eventually, he gave her oral sex. Weaver thought his friend remembered he was living with HIV — he had been open about it his entire life — but after he reminded her, she got upset and called the police.

    Prosecutors charged Weaver with felonious assault for not notifying his partner of his HIV status. He faced up to eight years in prison. It didn’t matter that there was “little to no risk” of transmitting the virus or that Weaver’s partner tested negative. But he was scared, so he took a plea deal. Prosecutors agreed not to argue for prison.

    Now his fate was in the hands of a judge who was first elected in 1990, one year after Ohio made it a crime to expose a person to the virus. It was a time when an HIV diagnosis was basically a death sentence. Advancements in treatment now allow those with HIV to live full lives. The 71-year-old Krichbaum made it clear he still considered HIV lethal, and the law blunt. What Weaver did was “like shooting a gun and hitting somebody, and they survive,” Krichbaum said. “That’s what this crime is.”

    And for that, the judge decided Weaver belonged in prison for a year. Krichbaum tacked on an extra 30 days in the county jail to punish him for showing up a few minutes late and for being dressed in a white tracksuit and tennis shoes — an outfit Weaver bought for the hearing, but Krichbaum deemed inappropriate.

    Weaver’s resolve broke. His attorney handed him a tissue before deputies took him away.

    Weaver is serving his sentence at the Ohio Reformatory for Women in Marysville. He has identified as male since high school but was assigned female at birth.

    “It was hurtful how he spoke to me, how he treated me,” said Weaver, months later in a call from prison. “Like I was basically poison.”

    A push to ‘modernize’ HIV laws

    Across the country, there’s a push to repeal or update the types of laws that put Weaver in prison. Most of the laws were put on the books decades ago, fueled by fear and absent scientific understanding about how the virus is transmitted, and long before advances in HIV treatments.

    Laws remain in place in 34 states. Thirteen states have repealed or modernized their HIV laws, according to the Center for HIV Law and Policy, a national legal policy and resource center working to decriminalize HIV. Illinois repealed its HIV criminal laws in 2021, with New Jersey following in 2022.

    Ohio has six different laws that criminalize certain acts — including sex — for people living with HIV, or that substantially increase penalties for them, compared to people who do not have the virus.

    There are no national reporting requirements that track the arrests or prosecutions. Most of the available information is collected by advocates or researchers. Until recently, it was unclear how often Ohio prosecutors charged people under the laws, which also apply to people living with viral hepatitis or tuberculosis.

    Last month, Equality Ohio and the Ohio Health Modernization Movement released results of a three-year effort to count prosecutions in Ohio’s 88 counties. Compiling information from court dockets and public records requests to court clerks and prosecutors, the groups tallied 214 cases prosecuted over a six-year period.

    About a third of the cases were like Weaver’s: felonious assault, which carries the most severe penalty of any HIV-related charge. More than half of the cases were for “harassment” with a bodily substance, most often involving law enforcement, corrections officers or healthcare workers. Ohio law doesn’t distinguish between bodily fluids that can transmit HIV, such as blood, and those that do not, such as saliva, urine or feces.

    Ohio’s laws don’t require HIV transmission

    Ohio’s laws are among the most punitive when it comes to HIV criminalization, said Jada Hicks, staff attorney for the Center for HIV Law and Policy. That includes stiff penalties for failing to disclose HIV status — regardless of whether the virus is or can be transmitted. In some cases, the law also requires sex offender registration.

    “Ohio takes a more carceral approach to HIV than a public health approach,” Hicks said.

    Mahoning County Prosecutor Gina DeGenova said it isn’t her job to weigh in on what the law should be. It’s to enforce the law as it is currently written, as her office did in Weaver’s case. DeGenova said with updates to technology and knowledge on how infections are transmitted, it “makes absolute sense to review the status of these laws.”

    Ohio’s laws that criminalize living with HIV were first passed in 1989. That year, AIDS-related complications were the second leading cause of death among men between 25-44 years.

    The original laws did not specifically reference HIV status, instead requiring prosecutors to prove that having sex while living with HIV was akin to carrying a deadly weapon.

    Several high-profile examples of HIV transmission dominated the country’s attention in the 1990s, notably the New York case of Nushawn Williams, who had sex with over 100 women.

    Following the media panic caused by cases like that of Williams, many states updated their HIV laws. In 2000, Ohio’s laws were changed to more specifically add HIV status into the language and criminalize exposure, not transmission.

    The federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention have since warned that laws criminalizing HIV exposure are ineffective and can discourage testing.

    A childhood spent managing HIV

    Weaver was born with HIV in New Jersey in 2001, as some states were sharpening their HIV laws and ramping up prosecutions. His mother died of a heroin overdose shortly after his younger brother was born.

    “I don’t really remember her,” Weaver said.

    He bounced around to seven different foster homes and was separated from his four older brothers before being adopted at age 3. His new family also included a sibling set of five from Texas, adopted by — as he calls them — his parents.

    From what Weaver was told by his parents, his birth mother was living with HIV and took antiretroviral medicines while pregnant with his older brothers, all of whom were born without HIV. Weaver and his younger brother were born with the virus, but his brother — and not Caymir — was given antiretroviral treatments and his status reverted to negative. Weaver was never told why.

    As a child, Weaver’s family made regular trips to Cleveland and Akron to get testing and treatments for HIV. The medical treatments kept the levels of virus in his body at undetectable levels, his mother, Ruth, told The Marshall Project. Their church and some family members shunned them for adopting a child with HIV. Instead of staying scared, the family got educated about the virus.

    From the start, Weaver’s parents had the same message: Be open, be safe.

    “They gave it to me straight up. So if I was bleeding or cut my hand or something, they taught me that I always had to wear gloves and make sure that everyone was protected,” Weaver said.

    His parents also gave him “the sex talk.” He remembers being in a doctor’s office when he was nine or 10 and being shown how to put on a condom. Even then, he wasn’t worried.

    “I already knew I wasn’t going to be having sex with guys,” Weaver laughed.

    The lesson that most stuck with Weaver was to be open about his HIV status. When he would get close with people — friends or romantic interests — he would disclose his status, even if it meant being bullied as a result.

    “People would use it against me, call me ‘HIV-bitch’ and other names. It did hurt me at one point in time, but there’s nothing I could really do. I was born this way and I had to tell people close to me,” Weaver said.

    click to enlarge He’s in an Ohio Prison for Exposing Someone to HIV - Even Though He Couldn’t Transmit the Virus

    (Candice Evers for The Marshall Project)

    A reunion with an old friend, and a call to police

    It was while scrolling through Facebook at the end of 2022 that Weaver saw the profile of a close high school classmate he’d lost touch with after dropping out his senior year. Weaver recalled exactly where they were about four years earlier when he told her that he was living with HIV: on the school bus with another friend whose name he specifically still remembers.

    “I told her my whole story, [including] that I was HIV-positive. She sat there and took it all in and said she understood,” Weaver recalled.

    The two met up in February 2023 and on the second day, things became sexual. Weaver said he gave the woman oral sex. The next morning, after Weaver was back at his own home, a voice inside him told him that he should remind his friend about his HIV status.

    “She flipped out. She said, ‘If I have it, I’m going to kill you.’ I just kept telling her that you can’t get [HIV] from saliva,” Weaver said.

    A few hours later, the friend contacted the Austintown police.

    Police questioned Weaver at his home that same day. But it wasn’t until months later that he was charged with felonious assault, arrested and booked into the county jail on June 1, 2023.

    “I didn’t eat for five days. They put me on a suicide watch, which meant sleeping on a mat on a dirty concrete floor with cameras watching you,” Weaver said.

    After seven days of suicide watch, he was placed in the section of the jail reserved for people accused of serious crimes, such as murder. He said the women there treated him like family, made sure he ate and were mad about Weaver’s charges.

    “There was even a nurse in that pod who kept saying, ‘But you can’t get HIV that way!’ Everybody knew that,” Weaver said.

    Weaver sat in jail for 41 days, until eventually, his family was able to post his $12,000 bond.

    Medical experts say that fear is not rooted in science

    Dr. Joseph Cherabie, assistant professor in the Division of Infectious Diseases at Washington University, said that the risk of HIV transmission by oral sex between two individuals assigned female at birth is “zero.”

    Cherabie pointed to research, including a 10-year study that observed no transmissions in people who received oral sex among 8,965 acts, and a 1998 study that observed no transmissions due to oral sex.

    Under Ohio law, the science of transmission doesn’t matter. And it didn’t matter to Judge Krichbaum when he spoke to Weaver: “The law says it doesn’t matter what you do, you gotta tell somebody ahead of time, ‘This is what I have, do you still want to engage or do you not want to engage?’”

    In Weaver’s case, the prosecutor said discrepancies around that key issue — whether he disclosed his HIV status — led to the plea agreement. DeGenova said had there been no deal, her office would have recommended a sentence similar to the one the judge gave Weaver, she said. The victim, she said, agreed to the plea deal.

    Laws disproportionately affect Black, LGBTQ+ people

    HIV decriminalization advocates say Weaver’s case highlights how the current laws can be used to discriminate against people living with HIV solely based on their health status, and even when there isn’t a risk of transmission. That is especially true for Black Ohioans, like Weaver, who test positive for HIV at higher rates.

    In 2022, about 25,000 people in Ohio had an HIV diagnosis. The rate of Black residents diagnosed with HIV was more than six times the rate of White residents. The CDC has warned that laws criminalizing HIV exposure are outdated and may discourage testing, increase stigma and exacerbate disparities in Black and Latino communities. Advocating to modernize state laws is also a part of Cuyahoga County’s public health strategy to end the HIV epidemic, an effort supported by federal funding.

    Authors of the recent Ohio report found that police and court records often lacked information on race or ethnicity, and the gender captured in law enforcement records didn’t always reflect a person’s gender identity. That prevents researchers from fully understanding the impact that these laws are having on some of the most vulnerable populations in Ohio, including LGBTQ+ people, people experiencing incarceration and people of color.

    “These laws continue to harm marginalized communities, and we’re seeing [Caymir’s] case exemplify that,” said Hicks, with The Center for HIV Law and Policy. “We’re seeing someone who has already been othered based on their race. We’re seeing a little bit of homophobia. We’re seeing a little bit of HIV exceptionalism. We’re seeing fear-mongering. We’re seeing all of that in [this] case.”

    In 2022, the Center for HIV Law and Policy filed a complaint with the Department of Justice on behalf of people living with HIV in Ohio and Tennessee.

    In December, the DOJ notified Tennessee it was violating the Americans with Disabilities Act by enforcing the state’s law that increases penalties for people convicted of prostitution if they also have HIV. On Feb. 15, the justice department sued the state and its state investigations bureau for discriminating against people living with HIV.

    Enduring prison and reflecting

    Nearly four months into his sentence, Weaver, now 23, is trying to keep his spirits up.
    He said he was scared when he was taken from jail to prison, but has met supportive people.

    His mother Ruth has been there, too. They talk as often as possible between her shifts cleaning and working a restaurant job. It weighs on her that she couldn’t afford an attorney to help fight his case. She’d watched her child be hurt and rejected his whole life for having a virus he didn’t ask for. The judge added imprisoned to the list.
    It’s not lost on her that the same judge who lectured her son about morality, weeks later hit a cyclist with his car, left them by the side of the road, and ended up with only a $400 fine.

    HIV decriminalization advocates say that Weaver’s case is the epitome of why they are pushing for reform of Ohio’s antiquated laws.

    “The set of facts is so wildly disproportionate to any amount of harm that could ever be caused,” said Hicks.

    Weaver agrees, taking exception to the comments made by Judge Krichbaum.

    “If [HIV] was a death sentence, my whole family would be dead,” Weaver said.

    Weaver is using his incarceration as an opportunity to figure out his life. He’s getting his GED.

    Although his HIV status has been used as a weapon to imprison him, he chooses to see the virus as a “blessing.”

    “I probably have it for a reason,” he said. “For you to tell my story.”

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    Ken Schneck, The Buckeye Flame and Rachel Dissell

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  • Cleveland Selected for Bloomberg Sustainable Cities Initiative, Will Receive Millions to Fight Climate Change

    Cleveland Selected for Bloomberg Sustainable Cities Initiative, Will Receive Millions to Fight Climate Change

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    Mark Oprea

    Lakeview Terrace, one of the oldest public housing projects in the country, has long been a site struggling with air pollution.

    Cleveland will be one of 25 U.S. cities in the sights of Michael Bloomberg’s years-long fight against climate change.

    The city is set to receive part of a $200 million pot, an announcement Tuesday proclaimed, from Bloomberg’s American Sustainable Cities initiative to “pursue transformative solutions in the buildings and transportation sectors.”

    Those dollars, a release from the city said, will also fund a Cleveland-based team of three that will evaluate how handle the city’s climate worries through a marriage of data analysis and a concern for social equity.

    Cleveland was one of four Ohio cities—including Cincinnati, Columbus and Dayton— to join the initiative. From Mayor Justin Bibb’s perspective, it will allow the city to hone in on the more impoverished, majority Black neighborhoods that could use that dollar lift the most.

    Bloomberg’s grant “will support equitable and more rapid implementation of historical funding at the neighborhood level, enhancing resources in our historically disadvantaged communities and reducing the racial wealth gap,” Bibb said in a release. “Through this collaborative effort, we will continue to work with residents and key stakeholders to achieve a more equitable and environmentally resilient city for all Clevelanders.”

    Millions of dollars should provide a major lift to Cleveland’s Public Works and transportation sectors to help actualize a myriad of projects in the pipeline, the grant language suggests. Theoretically, ongoing concepts and in-progress builds with climate perks—like Ohio City’s Irishtown Bend Park, Canal Basin Park, or the dozens of streets downtown that NOACA believes could use bike lanes—could receive funding.

    As for the other areas of climate concern, the potential for this cash to help is a lot more vague. Regional problems with air quality, flooding and a disappearing tree canopy continue.

    Nationally-speaking, Cleveland is a lot less of a thorn in the side of climate activists than other industrial cities, like those in Pennsylvania and California. Cleveland didn’t even touch the top 25 of the American Lung Association’s “most polluted cities” in its 2023 State of the Air report. (It ranked as one of its Cleanest Cities, minding ozone and particle pollution.)

    As for Michael Bloomberg himself, this initiative represents the former New York mayor’s long-running battle to bring down the fossil fuel industry, while injecting money into climate-focused cities worldwide with billions of dollars since 2013. A recent report from the Sierra Club stated that Bloomberg’s $500 million of climate activism in recent years “helped retire” 370 coal and gas plants nationwide.

    He’s now, according to a New York Times article from last September, going after petrochemical plants, while propping up cities that want bike lanes and healthier air.

    “If there’s something that can destroy the Earth and kill all living people, then it’s hard to argue you shouldn’t focus on that,” Bloomberg told the NYT. “I want my kids, your kids, to be able to have a life.”

    Bloomberg’s initiative team chose Cleveland, a release said, “based on its leadership and ambition to build resilient, equitable communities.”

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    Mark Oprea

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  • Four Minutes of History: How Clevelanders Are Getting Ready for the Awe and Logistical Challenges of the April 8th Total Solar Eclipse

    Four Minutes of History: How Clevelanders Are Getting Ready for the Awe and Logistical Challenges of the April 8th Total Solar Eclipse

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    Photo by Mark Oprea

    Amateur astronomer Jay Ryan, 62, holds up a laminated copy of the Saros cycle, a chronology of every eclipse in recent millenia. Ryan’s been tapped by Cuyahoga County to help navigate a total eclipse task force.

    It never seems to escape Jay Ryan that a good bulk of his work over the past three decades will culminate in just three minutes and fifty seconds.

    That roughly four minutes, as foretold for centuries, is the time during the day in which we will be without our sun. We’re told, as Ryan’s been talking about ad nauseam since last March, that on April 8, from 3:13 p.m. to 3:17 p.m., Clevelanders will be privy to a total solar eclipse, in which the moon blocks out sunlight, casting a 124-mile-wide dark shadow that will stretch from Toledo to Canton.

    Crickets chirp. Chickens roost. Birds stop singing.

    “The cows get confused, and go home,” Ryan said. “And people, some people just lose their heads. They scream. They laugh. They cry. They sob uncontrollably. Whatever your personality is, that is how you’re gonna react.”

    Ryan, 62, is a self-described amateur astronomer living with his wife and daughter in Old Brooklyn who, for roughly four years, has been talking to a network of institutions that have been preparing the city, and the region, for April 8th’s natural phenomena. And, of course, its unpredictability: from the incoming hordes of eclipse tourists descending on Northeast Ohio—an influx estimated to be anywhere from 200,000 to 500,000—to the exact pockets of the county, or state, they’ll be clustered in to the prevalence of clouds in those four precious minutes.

    This fragility gives Ryan, as it gives his milieu of amateur astronomers, a particular kind of anxiety. For about 5,000 years, human beings have been recording, and predicting, a marvel over the sudden extinguishing of sunlight. By around 2,000 B.C.E., Babylonians parsed this into a type of proto-science called the Saros cycle, finding that lunar and solar eclipses repeat, somewhere on the planet, precisely every 18 years, 11 days and eight hours. (Ryan keeps a laminated printout of this cycle on his dining table.) Herein lies Ryan’s jolt: explaining to those both the brevity of a highly particular phenomenon and convincing skeptics of a total eclipse’s emotional punch.

    That is, obviously, if those here in Cleveland on April 8 can actually see it. Regardless of the sky that afternoon, Ryan, along with the rest of the Solar Eclipse Task Force, has had to prepare for favorable weather.

    As of early March, every hotel in Downtown Cleveland has been booked, with fees running four to five times the average weekend rates. (One Airbnb, an apartment downtown, went for $3,600 a night.) County and city emergency management teams have requested hundreds of traffic barriers and porta johns. The Ohio Department of Transportation is relocating temporary construction along all highways, and anticipating hours of gridlock. And NASA Glenn, the sole NASA research center in the Path of Totality, from Montreal to Kerrville, Texas, will be hosting about three dozen engineers to, they hope, better study a crystalline view of solar flares. An astronomy meet, a NASA spokesperson said, makes Cleveland “the prime spot for the eclipse broadcast.”

    Along with creating his Eclipse Over Cleveland website, and selling 31,000 branded viewing specs, Ryan has embarked on months of a lecture tour to try and sell the eclipse’s personal worth to a general audience. A similar plunge has been taken by those like Ryan, whether it be pros with academic tenure or armchair aficionados, who have been releasing books, headlining university or library talks, participating in dayslong media tours.

    “I’ve been pretty much booked up now for almost a year,” Gary Kader, the director of Baldwin Wallace’s Burrell Observatory, said outside a BW lecture hall in early February. Kader was slated to say a few words to the Cleveland Astronomy Society, after NASA astronomer Kelly Korreck detailed, via Zoom, her own predictions. As Kader made his. “You have to understand that this is a human event,” he said, recalling the three totals he’s witnessed in his 75 years. “If you’ve seen one, you can understand why people thought it was the end of the world. Quite frankly, it’s disorienting.”

    After an eclipse-themed book raffle, the CAS started its main event for the thirty or so in attendance, mostly those in rain jackets and white hair. Korreck presented in a twofold manner: On one end, April 8 is a day NASA can better study solar flares. (“The sun is a curious beast,” she said.) On the other, a day ripe with existential wonder.

    “There is no other place in the universe with a moon this big, this far away from the earth, and to cover the sun up exactly in this very way,” Korreck said. Kader nodded in the second row. “I want you to let that sink in for a minute. How powerful that is.”

    ***

    There was pandemonium in Beijing in the middle of October in 2,134 B.C.E. A sudden engulfment of the sun, the Chinese believed, meant it had been “eaten” by a celestial dragon, a sort of godly punishment for bad society mores. People flooded the streets banging pots and pans at the dark circle in the sky. Others hid in their homes. As legend has it, Emperor Shun was so enraged by the sun-devouring that he ordered his staff astronomers, Hsi and Ho, beheaded for failing to do their job. (They, the legend also tells us, were simply too drunk.)

    Weather, as both NASA engineers and meteorologists know, is a fickle beast to foretell. Besides the half dozen weather balloons floating around the Midwest, and automatic readings from jets soaring the stratosphere, a lot of what can be assumed about a day’s precipitation or sunlight is often gleaned from historical records. According to the National Weather Service, 13 of the past 23 April 8ths had precipitation of some kind—five days, like 2018 and 2016, carried snow.

    click to enlarge Mark Johnson, a meteorologist at News 5 for the past 31 years, predicts about a 60 to 80 percent chance of cloud coverage on April 8. If so, Johnson said he could skip town. “I may jump on a plane for a week or so.” - Photo by Mark Oprea

    Photo by Mark Oprea

    Mark Johnson, a meteorologist at News 5 for the past 31 years, predicts about a 60 to 80 percent chance of cloud coverage on April 8. If so, Johnson said he could skip town. “I may jump on a plane for a week or so.”

    “Well, here’s the problem,” Mark Johnson, News 5’s chief meteorologist told Scene, from his newsroom off Euclid Avenue. “If you look back at history for these last twenty years, cloud cover on any April 8th afternoon in Northern Ohio is sixty to eighty percent.” Johnson put up a weather map on the forecast wall near his desk. A dark gray blob encompassed a large swath of Ohio, Michigan and New York. “Let me put it this way. The odds of it being a cloudless day are slim. Really, really slim.”

    A native Clevelander who made his first report for News 5 in November of 1993, Johnson likes to describe his job as one neighboring astronomy, through the umbrella, he says, of “space weather.” “I have a permanent crick in my neck from stargazing,” Johnson said. This reputation divulging the Lake Effect to trusting Northeast Ohioans carries a kind of social contract Johnson has little say in. He must report what little data—from one satellite and four balloons—he receives already.

    It’s a fear that makes April 8 Johnson’s Gladiator moment, to put it facetiously. A recent run-in with fans at his daughter’s volleyball game told him so. “I had three or four people come up to me, and say, ‘How’s it feel to get it wrong all the time, and still have a job?’” Johnson said. He adjusted his red tie. “‘You’re wrong all the time!’ Well no, actually I’m not.” (He’s accurate about “85 percent of the time.”)

    Forty-eight hours before totality, around the usual time Johnson starts his shift at News 5, meteorologists around the region will be able to predict, with more assurance, what the sky will look like that Monday afternoon. Or what it could look like.

    The only problem is, if Johnson’s worst fear is right, and 3:13 p.m. bears cloud coverage, then that report will divert hundreds of thousands southward towards better weather predictions. That is, to Mansfield or Dayton, to Indiana or Texas. (Even Texas is a fifty-fifty gamble, weather wise.) Hundreds if not thousands of hotel rooms booked a year in advance could, in theory, sit empty as a mad rush of eclipse tourists flee a city that had planned for two years to accommodate them.

    Bryan Kloss and Mark Christie at the Cuyahoga County Emergency Management will have to deal with it. Two years of exact plans, of joint collaboration with fifteen agencies and a “100-plus”-page preparation report, could go to Plan Bs and contingencies they’ve prepped for. A darkened, cloudy sky could cause accidents. Cell phone towers, as what happened during Nashville’s 2017 total eclipse, could go down for hours.

    click to enlarge Mark Christie, director of the Cuyahoga County Office of Emergency Management. - Photo by Mark Oprea

    Photo by Mark Oprea

    Mark Christie, director of the Cuyahoga County Office of Emergency Management.

    “Best case scenario: It’s a sunny day, everybody has a wonderful time, and we’re able to move traffic through nicely without having to worry about road closures,” Kloss told Scene, sitting in the GIS section of the command center he helps oversee, rows of computers behind him. “People enjoy the event. It’s sunny. It’s warm. They go to the beach. They go to the fields. They enjoy it, and they all go home. That’s what our job is: to make sure they all go home safe.”

    On a recent Thursday afternoon, Johnson walked into his studio in an electric-blue suit to once again detail what he believes might happen that day in April. A father-of-three with the high energy of a Bill Nye, Johnson veered between a Trekkie-type anticipation and a jester’s anxiety as his two colleagues, Kate McGraw and Katie Ussin, recorded an April 8 promo nearby.

    “I’m manifesting it to be clear,” McGraw told Scene, with a wink, after the broadcast. She smiled. “I’m just going to put out good vibes, that we’re going to have clear skies.”

    “Thousands and thousands of people—I’m their guy,” Johnson said, as McGraw and Ussin played back their promo. “The pressure is on.” He took a breath. “I wake up in a cold sweat just about every night going, ‘Oh my gosh, what if? I mean, what if?”

    “And if we do fail?” he added. “I may jump on a plane for a week or so.”

    ***

    On a recent Friday in March, Catherine Urban cleaned her two-story house, said goodbye to her husband and two daughters, and took a seat at her dining room table in Edgewater. Her laptop is open in front of her, as is The New American Ephemeris. There are salt crystals nearby. An album called “The Zodiac Cosmic Sound” is framed on the wall.

    “Eclipse time is usually not an easy time,” Urban said, calmly. “It’s a time where we often feel like our walls are getting smaller.”

    Farrah, 37, is sitting across from her, in serpent earrings and hands cupped on her waist. “So, my mother-in-law just moved in,” she said. “They’d sold their house. My husband’s parents got divorced, she moved in with us. And her birthday is mid-April, which I find interesting. And she’s trying to move.”

    Urban leans in a bit closer to her laptop screen, as if to second guess the astrological chart displayed on it. “So she’ll be impacted by eclipse season, too.” She checked chart notes on her Steno pad, where, earlier that day she made the same for Donald Trump and Joe Biden. (“Don’t forget, Twitter was bought by Elon Musk in eclipse season,” Urban said.)

    Farrah giggled anxiously. “Well, I feel now there’s a lot of positives,” she said. “I didn’t know what I was walking into.”

    “Solar eclipses tend to bring in more elements that feel faded, they feel out of our control,” Urban said. Her hands grow animated. “People tend to feel like it clears the path for them so they could bring something forward, so that they could actualize something they came here to do. 

    click to enlarge Astrologist Catherine Urban, 37, sitting in her dining room in her home in Cleveland’s Edgewater neighborhood. Urban said her business booms during eclipse season. - Photo by Mark Oprea

    Photo by Mark Oprea

    Astrologist Catherine Urban, 37, sitting in her dining room in her home in Cleveland’s Edgewater neighborhood. Urban said her business booms during eclipse season.

    Or sometimes it’s something really disruptive.” Urban smiled, and laughed lightly. “So, this is going to be a big one.”

    Growing up in Chagrin Falls intrigued by her grandparents’ New Age library, Urban began pursuing work as a professional astrologer in her mid-twenties. Soon, she studied with famed New York astrologer John Marchesella, and hosted guest lectures in Lilydale, New York, the Spiritualist center of the United States. She’s written an astrology-themed cookbook. She’s since given thousands of readings. “I have clients all over the world,” she said.

    The most important reading might have been her own, circa 2017. Her then-boyfriend Eli, who Urban had been with since meeting in cosmetology school, had suggested the two travel to Asheville on August 20, to see their first total eclipse on the Hard Times Trail. To Urban’s surprise, Eli proposed. (“I had no idea,” she said.) Urban said yes. The next day, on a lake in Georgia, they embraced as the moon engulfed the sun.

    “It was life-altering,” Urban said. “When I think about some of the most amazing and ecstatic things I’ve experienced, it felt like laying eyes on my newborn children.” Second to…

    That day, after Farrah’s reading, Urban’s kids arrive home with Eli. Urban’s oldest leapt boisterously into her arms at the kitchen table. “He’s like me,” Urban said. “Total Aquarius.”

    ***

    Thirty-one days before Cleveland hypothetically doubles in size, Jay Ryan sat at his dining room table in Old Brooklyn to once again discuss the implications of those three minutes and fifty seconds. In front of him is an 1806 Almanac, his laminated, eight-foot print out of the Saros cycle. An article in the Old Brooklyn News he’s given to each member of Cleveland City Council. In the basement is Ryan’s Dobsonian telescope he built out of rebar and concrete Sonotube.

    “Oh, Dad talks every single day about the eclipse,” Ryan’s teenage daughter Flo said while doing homework in the kitchen. “Every day.”

    Which, of course, begs the question: What is Ryan to do on April 9? After the half million or so drive or fly back to their homes—presumably with new takes on their lives. After the Guardians play their home opener to a sold-out crowd in the aftermath. After all the barriers and porta johns are removed, after construction dividers and crews return to daily labor on the highways.

    Ryan sort of bucks the question. “It may come as a surprise to some people, but I have other things I’m interested in,” he said, laughing. He recalled the Cleveland he grew up in, the city ununified, that city known for its river fire, that city used as the butt of a Johnny Carson joke. “I’m hoping that this will be a turning point for Cleveland, Ohio,” Ryan said. “And I’m hoping that this eclipse will close the deal once and for all on the Cleveland renaissance. I’m hoping that we’ll turn a corner. I’m hoping that this community will come together.”

    As for any life change in Jay Ryan, the best the eclipse ambassador can do is relate his own story of 2017, when the Ryans drove down to Hartsville, Tennessee, to catch the total with hundreds of friends and family members. As the sun’s corona began to flicker, a phenomenon called Baily’s Beads, Ryan’s wife and others let out a series of ahs and gasps. Others laughed. Some cried.

    “There were no surprises for me,” Ryan recalled. “I was already so old, and so well-versed in the subject, I knew exactly what to expect.”

    Ryan cackled, realizing the absurdity. “I guess it was just my personality, something about myself I never truly understood.”

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  • Cleveland’s Bike Advocates Foreshadow Infrastructure Makeovers in City Club Talk

    Cleveland’s Bike Advocates Foreshadow Infrastructure Makeovers in City Club Talk

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    Mark Oprea

    Angie Schmitt, the founder of a planning and consulting firm dedicated to traffic safety, spoke Wednesday at the Happy Dog about Cleveland’s push for better bike infrastructure.

    To many that packed the Happy Dog on Wednesday night, a recently released pedestrian crash report felt like a personal document.

    At least 550 Clevelanders, from adults scootering downtown to teenagers crossing St. Clair Avenue, were hit by cars in 2023. (Nine were killed.) Although not the central call for the gathering, such statistics were fresh on the mind of presenters and attendees alike at the City Club’s cyclist-focused town hall.

    One that gave off a comforting impression.

    City Hall, after decades of cold-shouldering serious bike lanes or roundabouts, is now very much in-line with what a real city, even of Cleveland’s size, needs in 2024.

    “This is an urgent issue,” Callie Mersmann, one-fifth of the city’s Mobility Team, told a full house at the Happy Dog. “I know all of us at this table, and almost all of us in this room, walk or bike daily, take transit daily, and are really dedicated to changing the ecosystem.

    “All of us believe firmly that people deserve a right to get safely to where they’re going,” she added. “And they shouldn’t need to be in a car to do that.”

    Mersmann’s point blank response to that uptick in cyclist-car collisions seemed, to say the least, very much in the wheelhouse of her co-presenters not affiliated with Mayor Justin Bibb—Bike Cleveland’s Jacob VanSickle; transportation activist Angie Schmitt; and Assembly of the Arts community officer and moderator Deidre McPherson.

    In a hour-and-a-half forum, which cycled through everything from the upcoming Midway projects to the false benefit of a sharrow (bike + arrow painted on streets), the dais had a clear message for their listeners: We hear you, and we’re doing the best that we can.

    Cleveland has a ways to go.

    Hoboken, New Jersey’s Bike & Pedestrian Resource Center announced in January they’ve counted zero deaths in the eight years they’ve spent refashioning their streets for walkers. And Columbus released plans to update three downtown streets with leafy trees and two miles of protected bike lanes, the Dispatch reported this week, for what could be a $100 million project.

    There is demand, after all.

    VanSickle several times cited a survey of 616 Clevelanders, orchestrated in collaboration with Baldwin Wallace, that showed that, although 70 percent of respondents used a car to get around most of the time, about two-thirds of them, VanSickle reiterated, “would opt to ride a bicycle if it was safe and convenient for them to do it.” (He even recently hired a community organizer, Jerrod Shakir, to better link Bike Cleveland’s philosophy with untapped city blocks.)

    A 39-year-old father of two who’s been pressing the city for safer streets to bike on since Mayor Frank Jackson’s second term, VanSickle framed Cleveland’s need to put its six-laners on a “road diet,” or paint others a strip of green, as first and foremost a lifesaving allocation of money.

    click to enlarge Bike Cleveland's Jacob VanSickle (center) with moderator Deidre McPherson (right). - Mark Oprea

    Mark Oprea

    Bike Cleveland’s Jacob VanSickle (center) with moderator Deidre McPherson (right).

    “I don’t like it when my son gets home from school and he says, ‘Hey, it’s 70 degrees, Dad, I want to go ride my bike,’” he said. “And the whole time I’m just worried about him getting hit by a car from the careless drivers coming home from work at five o’clock.

    “That shouldn’t happen in the city,” he added.

    Such mental health woes worried Schmitt, a traffic-aware planner and a mother of two, who, like VanSickle, digested the 2023 crash report in a personal way. (Schmitt was hit by a car while crossing West 44th St. in 2022.)

    “There’s, like, a record scratch when [drivers] see you biking with your kids You don’t see kids even playing outdoors anymore,” she said. “Part of that is technology, of course. I just think we’re dealing with a lot of crises sort of in our culture right now that are intersecting in bad ways.”

    For Jonathan Steirer, 31, a Cudell resident who often bikes eight miles to his job near Case Western Reserve, the city pushing for better bike lanes comes naturally with a dose of skepticism. Which stems, of course, from the fact he’s been hit three times—twice, he said, near the intersection of Euclid Ave. and East 55th St.

    Echoing one of Mersmann’s sentiments—that the upcoming Mobility Master Plan will provide lanes “safe for kids and their grandparents”—Steirer believes cross-city commuters like him may not bat an eye at shiny street overhauls.

    “I think shorter distances, it could change behavior,” he told Scene after the talk. “I don’t know if you’d get more like long-distance bike commuters. I think that you have to really enjoy it a little more. A lot of people, it’s dependent on if can they shower when they get there?”

    Cleveland’s Mobility Team is planning to release its master plan report sometime this summer, following a couple months of feedback touring. The goal, Mersmann told the crowd, is to actualize a three-year quick-implimentation plan, and build “rapidly” on streets with high crash data.

    But, this time around, focus on best practices. God forbid, she said, we go back to the lanes in vogue during Jackson administration.

    “More than a decade ago were begging the city to install sharrows, and this is how far we’ve come,” Mersmann exclaimed. “And they complained at the time that they didn’t have a stencil. That was their excuse!”

    “That’s true,” Matt Zone, a city councilmember at the time, confirmed in the audience. “We actually said that: we don’t have a stencil.”

    “Sharrows, they aren’t infrastructure,” VanSickle said. “They’re just signs.”

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  • Massive Astronaut Training Campus Set For Brook Park Gets County Funds

    Massive Astronaut Training Campus Set For Brook Park Gets County Funds

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    Blue Abyss

    A rendering of what Blue Abyss’ astronaut training facility in Brook Park may look like when built in 2026.

    Eighty-two years after NASA’s Glenn Research Center opened at the heel of the Cleveland Hopkins International Airport, a new aerospace facility is set to break ground in Northeast Ohio.

    But not just any research center: the largest commercial astronaut training center in the world.

    Blue Abyss, an aerospace company headquartered in Cornwall, U.K., has been eyeing since late 2022 some 13 acres of untouched land in Brook Park to build its first American campus for future dwellers of the International Space Station. And yesterday, following a meeting with Cuyahoga County’s Finance & Budgeting Committee, it got a nice pre-development boost: a $450,000 grant.

    A way to tap into the booming private investment into space and deep sea exploration—see: SpaceX and Blue Origin—John Vickers, Blue Abyss’ founder and British Army Veteran, set out to create a one-stop campus to house training for a variety of disciplines in the worlds of marine and space exploration.

    One with a human centrifuge for high-G research; a parabolic flight simulator for microgravity experiences; and a pool for freedivers and astronauts to simulate space or test autonomous underwater vehicles—a cavernous pool with enough water to fill 17 Olympic-sized ones, with a cylindrical “shaft” 150 feet deep to aid deep sea simulation. (About as tall as the Cleveland Public Library on Superior Avenue.)

    And to house all of the visiting NASA students and deep-diving shift workers, Blue Abyss is planning a 130-room boutique hotel.

    click to enlarge Marc Drew, Blue Abyss' COO, at County Headquarters on Monday afternoon. - Mark Oprea

    Mark Oprea

    Marc Drew, Blue Abyss’ COO, at County Headquarters on Monday afternoon.

    Such a campus, which would cost roughly $235 million to build and would break ground later this year, would lure novices and veterans alike seeking “extreme environment training,” Blue Abyss COO Marc Drew told County Council. Those who might otherwise head to NASA’s Neutral Buoyancy Lab in Houston, or the Deep Research Labs in the U.K.

    “There are other companies that can provide some aspects for astronaut training,” Drew said. But “the ability to take an astronaut and put them through the long arm centrifuge so they can experience the high G forces; the next day, put them onto the parabolic flight, so they then experience very quickly zero gravity; the ability to then put them into the pool so they can start experience doing spacewalks?”

    “That will be a unique global capability,” he said.

    And, Drew and others argued, a decent job creator. Some 1,759 full-time equivalent jobs could pop up, a Kent State University study done late last year, found—a count that could grow to 3,900 by 2029. And a $3.5 million jump in Brook Park tax revenue.

    That’s, of course, if Blue Abyss’ wavy campus actually opens its doors in 2026. Several on Council worried that the dream center for Northeast Ohio aerospace could go the route of the “Icebreaker” wind farm off the shores of Lake Erie that was put on hold due to a lawsuit and concerns about killing birds.

    click to enlarge A rendering of what Blue Abyss' 150-feet-deep testing pool could look like. - Blue Abyss

    Blue Abyss

    A rendering of what Blue Abyss’ 150-feet-deep testing pool could look like.

    “That project went on for one year, two years, five years, 10 years, and we’re not close to substantially completing that project,” District 6 Councilman Jack Schron said. “Fortunately, we didn’t have any funds there.”

    “This is not a project that’s without risk,” District 2 Councilman Dale Miller added. “This is a new and difficult undertaking, and it’s not typical for the county to be involved at the pre-development stage. But our intention is to give the project a catalytic boost at a critical time that’s necessary for them to bring the following stages to completion.”

    But such risk, minding rising construction costs and high interest rates, comes with potential that could be parsed down to one word: limitless.

    Apart from the on-staff scientists and scuba divers, Blue Abyss could tap into the growing market for space tourism, albeit a lot closer to the ground. Drew painted a future where Cleveland residents and tourists alike could pay a decent fee to experience zero gravity for about 20 seconds. “So if you don’t want to go into space” he said, “you can come to Blue Abyss.”

    Schron seemed to tap into Drew’s itch for branding opportunities, for naming rights, for, say, competition with Cedar Point, the Great Lakes Science Center. “You know, it seems like an attractive place for Disney to extend a hotel brand,” Schron speculated.

    Other than spending this year locking down the $250 million or so needed to finish Blue Abyss’ campus, Drew said the company is seeking or “in talks with” your usual suspects in our age of private ventures into space exploration. With Virgin Galactic, with Axiom Space, with Sierra.

    And with NASA Glenn, the government-backed facility down the road on Aerospace Parkway seems to need a tad bit more convincing: “While we have spoken with the company about our facilities and expertise in dealing with low-gravity environments,” a NASA spokesperson said in an email, “we don’t have any contracts or agreements with them at this time.”

    “Why Cleveland?” Schlon questioned at Council. “We all love Cleveland, but why would this project, with all those brand names you’re talking about?”

    Drew answered rationally, positing that Vickers chose those 13 acres of land due to its proximity to a NASA outpost and an international airport. And, Drew added, the executive was, he heard, moved by the eagerness of those whom he met with.

    “I think he came to Cleveland and was impressed with the passion,” he said. “He met a whole breadth of individuals, and was convinced that the way that Cleveland integrates its economic development, it was the right place for us to set up shop.”

    Blue Abyss is aiming to break ground for its 300,000-square-foot campus before the end of the year, and is planning to open, Drew said, by “mid-2026.” If it does, it will be the largest facility in the world with capabilities for both deep-sea diving and parabolic flight.

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  • Notre Dame College Will Close After Spring Semester

    Notre Dame College Will Close After Spring Semester

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    Notre Dame

    Notre Dame College in 2011.

    May 2 will be the final day students walk through the doors of Notre Dame College.

    On Thursday evening, the board of the South Euclid school announced that it will be ending its 102-year-long operations in Northeast Ohio this spring, and sending students elsewhere, despite years of attempts to save itself from financial ruin.

    As Scene reported in December, Notre Dame admins began talking this November in earnest about the viability of a healthy spring semester. Such talks came just weeks after former president Michael Pressimone “voluntarily” resigned, an official statement read, “to pursue new opportunities.” In July, the Sisters of Notre Dame, the coalition of nuns that founded the school, severed ties with the university.

    Notre Dame’s shuttering is resemblant of a national trend for smaller colleges and universities. A delayed ripple effect from the Great Recession, colleges with four-figure student counts are attempting to fight declining enrollment and steep operation costs with last-ditch fundraising grabs and—which is usually the case—cutting personnel, slashing budgets, even saying bye to under-attended majors.

    “Throughout this long process, we evaluated every possible option to continue the mission of Notre Dame College,” Terri Bradford Eason, chair of Notre Dame’s Board of Trustees, wrote in a press release this week. “Our primary focus has been to ensure our students can successfully continue their education, graduate, and—in the tradition of the Sisters of Notre Dame—live a life of personal, professional and global responsibility.”

    Those lives of global responsibility will most likely be happening locally for most of Notre Dame’s 1,400 students. As per the school’s new partnerships, finalized in February, students with over 60 accumulated credits under their belt will be able to transfer to one of nine nearby schools, which include: Baldwin Wallace, Cleveland State, Hiram, John Carroll, Kent State, Lake Erie, Ursuline, Walsh and Mercyhurst in Erie, Pennsylvania.

    Students with under 60 accumulated credits, those with “good standing,” “may have the opportunity” to transfer to one of the aforementioned schools, was all the release said.

    As in the case of Baldwin Wallace and Lakeland Community College, the internal management of funds predating the pandemic era has some linkage, said many interviewed by Scene, to colleges on the brink—or over the brink—of shutting their doors.

    Despite averaging a net income of $468,864 since 2011, the Notre Dame’s books may have been thrown by its Covid-era contributions in 2019, 2020 and 2021, when the school reported gains of $2.4 million, $1.4 million and $1.9 million. Last year, with 83 percent of its revenue hailing from “program services,” the school ended its year at a loss of $823,389, its worst of the past 11 years.

    “I’ve been watching the pattern. You can see revenue declining and expenses increasing,” one former employee told Scene back in December. “Personally, I think they probably should have been much more cautious about their expenditures over the last few years.”

    Working “tirelessly for years on multiple fronts,” the release stated, the board tried refinancing debt, combining these American Rescue Plan Act dollars and state grants, even leveraging its own centennial celebration as a 100-year fundraising campaign. (And pursuing mergers with two universities.)

    Yet, “these heroic efforts were not enough to close the financial gap in time to satisfy debt obligations and allow the school to continue to operate independently,” the release said.

    Students at Notre Dame will be able to get a head start on their Fall 2024 plans when the school hosts an exciting “Partner College/University Fair” event on Wednesday, March 13 from 12:30 to 5 p.m. at Notre Dame’s Keller Gymnasium.

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  • New Cleveland Chief of Police, Safety Director Sworn In a Week After Karrie Howard Resigns

    New Cleveland Chief of Police, Safety Director Sworn In a Week After Karrie Howard Resigns

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    Mark Oprea

    Former Chief of Police Wayne Drummond was sworn in as interim Director of Public Safety, replacing former director Karrie Howard who resigned last week following an investigation into an infringement of city policy.

    Dorothy “Annie” Todd, the former deputy chief of Cleveland Police, was sworn in by Mayor Justin Bibb as the city’s new chief of police Thursday morning.

    And former Chief of Police Wayne Drummond was also installed as the city’s new Director of Public Safety, a move that comes a week after former director Karrie Howard resigned, which came days after a Fox 8 investigation showed Howard admitting to violating a city policy he claimed he was unaware of.

    Mayor Justin Bibb, who swore in both Drummond and Todd on Tuesday, framed Howard’s step-down more as a natural path for the former director, who had held his post since 2020, rather than a result of a controversy.

    “Karrie and I spoke frequently about the future of the department, and we often had frank conversations about the leadership that was needed for the department to be successful moving forward,” Bibb said. “Specifically, to reach our ambitious goals, public safety must be focused on delivering for residents and free from distraction. And there must be a high degree of confidence at every level to ensure collaboration.”

    “Karrie felt that now was the right time to make a change in leadership,” Bibb added, “and made the difficult and hard decision to resign.”

    click to enlarge Dorothy "Annie" Todd is the city's newest chief of police, the second woman to hold this role in the city's history. - Mark Oprea

    Mark Oprea

    Dorothy “Annie” Todd is the city’s newest chief of police, the second woman to hold this role in the city’s history.

    On February 22, Fox 8’s Peggy and Ed Gallek revealed that Assistant Director of Public Safety Jakimah Dye had crashed her city car with her children inside in a violation of City of Cleveland policy that states “employees shall not transport any person other than City employees.”

    In a follow-up interview that day, Howard told the Galleks that he was oblivious to such city policy. He himself, he told Peggy Gallek, had done the same as Dye. “So, I’ve had my son in the car,” he told Fox 8. “We reviewed the policy. I didn’t know their was a policy.”

    Regardless of why Howard resigned, the new roles at CPD and Public Safety come at a seemingly tough time for both departments, when battling violent crime—as both Todd and Drummond said—remains a top priority, all while the CPD navigates an ongoing officer shortage that Bibb himself believes he can budget his way out of. (The city’s still short about 424 officers, News 5 found.)

    “Our new incentives around recruitment and retention, I think, are going to show real dividends to the CPD,” Bibb said. “We’re optimistic that we’ll have a sizable large police class by the end of this first quarter to replenish the ranks.”

    Todd began her career as a CPD traffic controller in the late 1990s, was acting deputy chief since 2022, after taking Joellen O’Neill’s role, and was commander of CPD’s Third District for three years before that. She is the second woman to hold the chief of police role in Cleveland’s history.

    Though less vocal than Drummond, Todd told press in City Hall’s Red Room on Thursday that, as chief, she’s prioritizing preventing juvenile crime, along with convincing the new Department of Justice monitors of “the progress we’re making and made throughout the years” with the Consent Decree.

    All three told press that the near formation of Cleveland’s own Gun Crime Intelligence Center, a copy of a similar center in Cincinnati, is the city’s best bet for taking guns used for criminal activity off the streets—a nod to those used in the West 6th and Public Square shootings downtown last summer.

    Bibb himself fashioned Cleveland as safer than it was three, four years ago, even with 2023’s 200 homicides clocked in. “We’ve seen a 14 percent reduction in homicides in out city,” he said, since 2020.

    As for Dye, the assistant director still has her job in the Department of Public Safety. She’s not allowed to drive her city car during an ongoing internal investigation.
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  • After Vocal Opposition From Munson Residents, Christian Nonprofit Withdraws Plans for Women’s Homeless Shelter

    After Vocal Opposition From Munson Residents, Christian Nonprofit Withdraws Plans for Women’s Homeless Shelter

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    Mark Oprea

    Nathan Long, GFRM’s executive director shown here at a town hall in Munson last Tuesday. Despite making a case for Geauga County’s first women’s shelter, GFRM decided to look elsewhere.

    A women’s shelter housing ten to twelve homeless people will not be built in Munson Township, its backers revealed this weekend.

    The Geauga Faith Rescue Mission announced via a press release that it had pulled out of a proposal to build its second shelter in Geauga County, just a few days after it voluntarily hosted a jam-packed feedback session at the Munson Town Hall that featured outcry from residents.

    “After listening to community feedback regarding the proposed women’s mission on Bean and Auburn roads, GFRM has decided to begin searching for another location,” a press release read.

    Since early 2023, the Christian nonprofit had been seeking land to develop their next shelter space, in collaboration with the Sisters of Notre Dame, a followup to GFRM’s men’s shelter house on Washington Street in Chardon. For months, GFRM had its eyes set on an abandoned preschool on Auburn Road in Munson, plans that had drawn a storm of concerns from homeowners in the area.

    click to enlarge Many Munson residents were concerned at last week's town hall that the shelter would put their lives in danger. "I'm going to probably be putting a target on my back," one woman said. "But this is my backyard, and I can't have somebody come into my neighborhood who has connections to a variety of communities." - Mark Oprea

    Mark Oprea

    Many Munson residents were concerned at last week’s town hall that the shelter would put their lives in danger. “I’m going to probably be putting a target on my back,” one woman said. “But this is my backyard, and I can’t have somebody come into my neighborhood who has connections to a variety of communities.”

    GFRM Executive Director Nathan Long, who endured many comments fueled by fear and anxiety at Tuesday’s town hall, told Scene in a phone call that refocusing the site search was done primarily to avoid any further vitriol from Munsonites.

    As for the concerns heard last week—that hosting homeless on Auburn would depreciate property values, or put children in danger—Long still isn’t convinced they’re justified. After all, in 15 months of operation near Chardon Square, GFRM’s men’s shelter hasn’t reported, Long said, one incident of crime.

    “But perception is one thing. I mean, either the community wants something or they don’t,” he said. “And we’re not trying to force something in the community that doesn’t want it.”

    Comments online and in-person fanned the flames of unfounded fears.

    “You do not want the inner city coming to our county,” one resident said. “This will be like a cancer.”

    “I can’t have somebody come into my neighborhood who has connections to a variety of communities,” said another.

    There has been no secondary site chosen for GFRM’s next proposal, although, Long said, the goal is to grow such women’s shelter in Geauga County, ideally in the Chardon area.

    Sister Margaret Gorman, of the Sisters of Notre Dame, said she believes that GFRM’s honesty in the whole ordeal—voluntarily hosting a town hall to calm the tension—could leave an impression on future residents.

    “Remember, they postponed the zoning meeting to help people understand,” Sister Gorman told Scene, recalling GFRM’s then-needed approval by Munson’s Board of Directors. “They were trying to be good neighbors. And they were. They listened to people. I think they demonstrated their willingness to work with the community.”

    Long said he’s up for suggestions and referrals. And, he told Scene, he harbors no ill will towards those in Munson that, through online threats or direct accusations, drove him and GFRM elsewhere.

    “I don’t personalize it,” he told Scene. “They don’t know me. They don’t know my heart.”

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  • Bibb Announces $2 Million in Funding to House Homeless

    Bibb Announces $2 Million in Funding to House Homeless

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    Mark Oprea

    Superior Avenue, in Downtown Cleveland, has been host to the increasing visibility of the city’s homeless population post-pandemic.

    Send out more outreach teams on the streets of Cleveland. Incentivize landlords to take Section 8 vouchers. Build more no-frills housing with affordable rates.

    These are some of City Hall’s ideas to tackle the sweeping issue of homelessness across Cleveland, as announced in Mayor Justin Bibb’s presentation on the matter Friday morning.

    Bibb, flanked by County Executive Chris Ronayne, along with shelter operators and housing-specialist advisors, framed what he’s calling the Home For Every Neighbor program as the city’s comprehensive offensive on what’s typically tackled by volunteers and private nonprofits.

    Such an “aggressive, more focused and targeted approach” to handle what truly is a ground issue, Bibb said, aspires to reach big goals by mid-2025: to have rehoused at least 150 homeless residents.

    “And in Cleveland, what excites me about this issue is that it’s a solvable problem. It’s a solvable problem,” he told press Friday morning. “We want to make sure we can nip this issue in the bud before it becomes more systemic.”

    The $2 million, a portion of which will fund a study on how other cities have successfully tackled the issue, follows city and county investments in recent months.
    In January, Cleveland allocated roughly a quarter million to bolster seasonal shelters. And in early February, the county announced a $3.9 million federal grant that will be funneled to a half dozen outreach organizations focused on ending youth homelessness.

    But, as critics to top-down approaches say, the city will have to essentially pick and train the right boots on the ground to influence the unhoused into going through what can be strict, and intimidating, pathways to stable housing.

    By studying what’s worked elsewhere—like in Houston, Dallas, Denver and St. Paul—the eventual Home For Every Neighbor plan, Bibb’s presentation revealed on Friday, echoes the county’s own five-year Strategic Plan before it: funding and sending out outreach teams to walk the streets, especially during blizzards, to direct the unhoused to shelters.

    Then, it becomes a housing issue. Landlords would get perks to house those coming from temporary beds. Developers would be incentivized to build a minimum percentage—to be named—of non-market rate apartment units. A 25-unit “Safe Haven” home, without steep barriers to entry, would be built on city property to add to the overall stock.

    Chris Knestrick, the executive director of the Northeast Ohio Coalition for the Homeless, said that the clear linkage between the county and city’s plan gives him hope that NEOCH’s lobbying, and occasional criticism, of the city’s staid approach to getting the unhoused housed is promising.

    “And I think internally we’re pretty excited,” he told Scene on Friday. “I think it’s been years of asking government, the city and county step up, and we’re very happy.”

    City Hall plans to hire a strategic consultant to grow its homelessness initiative by May 1. RFPs are due to the city by March 25.

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  • A Christian Nonprofit Wants to Build a Small Women’s Homeless Shelter in Munson Township. The Town’s Residents Came Out in Force to Kill the Project

    A Christian Nonprofit Wants to Build a Small Women’s Homeless Shelter in Munson Township. The Town’s Residents Came Out in Force to Kill the Project

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    Mark Oprea

    Attendees of a town hall meeting in Munson Township on Tuesday had issues with the Geauga Faith Rescue Mission opening a women’s shelter down the road.

    It was a few months after the Geauga Faith Rescue Mission opened up a small shelter for homeless men on Washington Street in Chardon when the thought to do the same for women occurred to Sister Margaret Gorman.

    Gorman, a nun at the Sisters of Notre Dame, the charity that owns the building, was warmed by what seemed like a new community anchor. Amish donated help for the shelter’s trim and doors. Geauga Hardwood offered laminate flooring. Annie Payne, a Chardon-based interior decorator, designed the shelter’s bedrooms and lobby.

    In fifteen months, twenty men were given beds to sleep in, meals to eat, links to jobs and permanent housing.

    “During that time, we’ve seen churches, businesses, and many individuals also begin to support that program,” Gorman said. “And we see how extending that program to the women could be a real support here in Geauga County.”

    The Sisters and GFRM found their next shelter on twenty acres of land around an abandoned preschool building off Auburn Road in Munson Township. Because the land the preschool is situated on is not zoned for shelter housing, both organizations needed approval by Munson Township’s Zoning Board to remake the building into a transitional shelter for roughly eight to ten single women.

    Yet, the Sisters were thrown a curveball: many in Munson Township viewed the shelter as an incoming wave of societal degradation. The petition for a variance was delayed, the board decided, until this June.

    “People in Munson and the surrounding areas pay BIG MONEY to keep their kids and families away from the dredges of society,” Munson resident Richard Spanish posted on Facebook. “And the Sisters of Notre Dame think it’s a good idea to fill an old barn with homeless, most likely drug-addicted hags???!!”

    “You do not want the inner city coming to our county,” Sam Culper posted. “This will be like a cancer.”

    The impetus to build what would be Geauga County’s second homeless shelter, was, in the mind of its backers, steeped in a mixture of good faith intentions and response to hard data. Because a great majority of the county comprises owner-occupied homes, few resources exist to accommodate those that can’t afford one, or experience sudden life changes.

    A 2021 county assessment found that the Geauga Metropolitan Housing Authority could only provide public housing for 165 county residents, or less than .01 percent of its population. (One nonprofit suggested there were, a few years back, “over 700 people” on waiting lists.) Housing was the second most addressed topic in a recent “Unmet Needs” report by Geauga County Jobs & Family Services.

    “We have little to no options for our homeless people,” GCJFS’ 2019 survey and review read. “There is no housing for homeless in Geauga County.”

    click to enlarge Nathan Long, GFRM's executive director and a pastor in Geauga County since 2014, made his case to Munson residents on Tuesday. - Mark Oprea

    Mark Oprea

    Nathan Long, GFRM’s executive director and a pastor in Geauga County since 2014, made his case to Munson residents on Tuesday.

    While the proof of an area’s increasing unsheltered population is more obvious in the center of a city, where shelters are often clustered in walkable areas, the evidence—and actual, verifiable count—of those living homeless is much harder to pin down in rural areas, where cars and wide open spaces are daily life’s status quo.

    It’s just this lack of visibility that fueled Nathan Long, GFRM’s executive director, into pursuing a second shelter partnership with the Sisters of Notre Dame. (They lease the property.) After a decade as a pastor in Geauga County, Long had felt he’d come to know the church’s position as a community anchor. When the need to petition for a variance came up in January, Long was unflappable. He knew what was coming.

    “That’s a concern that we hear over and over that we’re going to bring Cuyahoga County to Geauga County,” he told Scene. “But we have to meet needs here. We have people that need help right here.”

    On Tuesday evening, Long, Sister Gorman, and a panel of faith leaders presented their case to hundreds of Munson residents at the Munson Town Hall on Auburn, down the road from where the women’s shelter could open later this year. There were so many cars parking in the Town Hall’s lot that visitors had to park two blocks north.

    For roughly a half hour, Long, dressed in a pinstripe black suit and greying goatee, spoke almost mournfully to a packed house, pockmarking his plea with past anecdotes and verses from the Book of Matthew. Single women need a bed just as single men do, he argued. Those it would seek to service deserve the chance to rebound.

    “Meeting Nathan Long saved my life,” Anthony Mira, 35, who stayed for six months at the men’s shelter on Washington, recalling days reciting Bible verses and doing daily chores. “I remember that day. Wow, it was cold out. I was struggling with withdrawals and drug problems. I figured, at least I have another week to figure it out.”

    He added, “I look back at that now as one of the biggest blessings of my life.”

    click to enlarge Many residents present had concerns about their family and their property. "I'm going to probably be putting a target on my back," one woman said. "But this is my backyard, and I can't have somebody come into my neighborhood who has connections to a variety of communities." - Mark Oprea

    Mark Oprea

    Many residents present had concerns about their family and their property. “I’m going to probably be putting a target on my back,” one woman said. “But this is my backyard, and I can’t have somebody come into my neighborhood who has connections to a variety of communities.”

    When they got time to share their own thoughts, the townsfolk present seemed to forget about Mira’s story completely, focusing more so on the fact that, for what seemed like a majority of respondents, that the shelter would be down the road—and a little too close to home.

    “This is our children. This is our streets! This is my family, this is my husband,” a Munson resident in her mid-forties cried out. “Right now, I am by myself raising two children. I’m going to probably be putting a target on my back.”

    Long echoed his sentiment that people can change. “When they come to us, the high percentage of people that are committing crimes,” he responded, “once they enter into a structure, that reduces it.”

    “No! No! No!” the crowd groaned.

    “Oh my god,” one person shouted.

    “No!” one woman cried. “It brings crime from the inner city!”

    As the town hall came to a head, many in its audience seemed to rally around a common fear: We’ve been here, in our homes, for decades—and we don’t plan on giving that up, or allowing our homes’ values to depreciate. “We are here to live a peaceful and quiet life,” one woman in her fifties shouted.

    “What about the safety of the students, like 800 to 1,000 feet away from the shelter,” one woman said. “When you have residents leaving the facility! Those who have access to weapons. They have access to drugs.”

    “Every other resident in your town has that access,” Long rebutted.

    “Yeah, but you’re talking about the residents being homeless—drug problems, mental health problems. And we all know all the school shootings usually revolve around mental health.”

    Long pivoted. “I don’t think there is one incident throughout the United States of a female doing a mass shooting,” he said.

    At that, the crowd went ballistic.

    “I wish people could talk like fucking adults,” a 31-year-old resident living on Auburn told Scene. “This,” he said, “this is every town in America.”

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